Hunting Destiny
by phyreblade
Summary: Bounty Hunter Kastiel seeks her destiny, through the Great Hunt and beyond, determined to win her place, secure her name so that none can ever again take from her what's most important. Follows the story line for the Bounty Hunter class created by Bioware. F/BH with Torian Cadera love interest. Other characters will be considered as the story progresses. Rated M, of course.
1. Prologue

**NOTE: All characters are property of Bioware and EA, no matter how much I might wish differently. Kudos to those Bioware writers who created such exceptional stories. Please please keep up the excellent work! You guys rock!**

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"You get rid of it, or I will, Lucian. I'll not stand for it." Karen Phyre faced her husband in dreadful rage. He watched her sadly. There were times he wondered if Sith nature ran stronger in her than himself, and, that, never mind his own family's history of Sith blood and tradition. His brother used to fly into similar rages before they carried him off to be trained, anyway.

"She carries my child, Karen. My child! You can not expect me …" But Karen cut him off.

"_I_ carry your child, your true child. That bastard will never take from me what's mine, damn you! Do you understand me?"

He glared at her. "That's what this is about, isn't it? It's not even care or concern for the child you're pregnant with. Not so long as you are bettered by its place, its birth!"

"Don't think to undermine me, Lucian! I'll do whatever I have to, to protect what I've worked so hard for!"

"You've worked for nothing, damn you! I've given you everything!"

"And now you've betrayed me! You lying cheat! Right here in our own home, not even with someone worth having, but a lowborn immoral slut, a mere servant! Do what's required, see that that whore's pregnancy is destroyed. Or I swear to you, Lucian, I'll bury your name in so much awful scandal, drag it through so much filth and muck, that you will never again be able to wear that damn uniform of yours!" Karen sneered at him. "And that's only if you manage to live through my family's retribution!"

"I'll never forgive you for this, Karen. I mean it!" He stared at her, his nostrils flaring with his anger. She thrilled at the way his dark brown eyes gleamed in his anger. But only because she knew she'd won. He'd do it. Just as she demanded. The threats to his career and his life had worked. She wondered for a moment which one of those things had been the tipping point.

"I don't give a damn! Just do it!"

Lucian growled. But he spun around to leave the room, nonetheless. His wife's maniacal laughter followed him. Gods, he thought. Don't let my child with that damn woman ever sound like that. Her madness appalled him. He wondered if he'd ever be able to look at her again, let alone touch her. He growled as he knew he'd have to. He'd not lose any of his children. Not ever! Not even if they were born from that maddened bitch.

He stalked through the apartments, towards the kitchen, where Karen had thrust Tamerie hours earlier. He could hear the bangs she was making against the locked pantry door's surface as he neared the room, and he stopped in place, breathing hard.

Tamerie was too young for this fight, this deception that they'd have to make. She was too sweet and precious. He hated himself just then, for not being strong enough to resist the temptation of her love and attention. If only he'd not given in to its pull, not allowed himself the glory and wonder of their passion – then, he might have saved her for something better and more wholesome than the sad future that was all he could promise her, now.

So he hugged her close to him, when she tumbled out of the pantry into his arms, gasping in fear and terror. He hugged her and caressed her only slightly rounding tummy, leaning down to whisper in her ear how dreadfully sorry he was. Then he set her away from him, gazed seriously into her flower-blue eyes, and he told her what they were going to do to keep their baby safe.


	2. Chapter 1 -- Mandalorian Rescue

Aily Cadera strode through the Kaas City spaceport. Hardened residents of the city scrambled out of her way, terrified as they took in the plates of Beskar that adorned her slim frame and the cold, hard helmet that obscured her head and face. Her dark blonde hair was braided, long enough to extend out from beneath the back edge of her helmet all the way down her back, until it just kissed the very top of her tailbone. Her armor was carefully designed, the brown and yellow markings designating her the hero of countless arena matches on Geonosis.

"_Jicoln_." Her husband's name skittered through her mind. But she ruthlessly pushed away any thought of him. He was gone, she reminded herself. She could count on no one, now, but her own self and her own skill. Jicoln had failed, he'd failed their clan and their family, and he'd fled in order to preserve the last bit of self and honor he had left. After three years huddling in the wilds of the ruined world of Taris, few believed he even lived still.

Korwis certainly did not, she thought, glancing at the warrior who strode along next to her. One of Jicoln's oldest friends, he'd still stood firmly loyal to the Mandalore when Jicoln flouted his call and led a revolt against his rule. Now Jicoln was gone and Korwis was left behind, trying to defend Aily herself. And her son, too.

Torian was almost running alongside her, his small legs pumping as he tried to keep pace. She smiled, subtly slowing her stride in order to accommodate her son's step. He didn't look up at her, just stepped closer, showing in his own five year-old manner that he would protect her, fight for her. Her son would never be a coward, she thought. No, he would succeed, would prevail even as Jicoln had not. And he would have to do it through the terrible impediment that his father's name had now become.

"_Damn you, Jicoln_." Perhaps she should do as Korwis had offered, should take him as her new husband, divorcing herself of Jicoln's name entirely. He'd nodded, declared himself proud enough to adopt Torian as his own chosen son. But Aily continued to refuse. She stupidly persisted in loving her husband, remained proud to call herself _his_ and her son _his_. Maybe someday her pride would bend enough she could let go of such sentiment.

Torian looked up at her, then. His blonde hair was so like her own, thick and wavy around his face. But his features – the shape of his jaw, the way his eyes were shaped – they were all Jicoln. Every time Torian looked at her, he gazed at her through eyes the same soft golden brown as his father's. Her heart ached every time. No, she thought. She would always love Jicoln too much to take his name from their son.

So she had come to Dromund Kaas, determined to secure what honor was left in the Clan Cadera name. While their _aliit_ was scattered among the entirety of the _Mando'ad_ after the revolt, those who still held onto the name would have to demonstrate time and again they refused to back down. Or be defeated.

So when Dorvan laughed at her, calling her whore of the _aruetii_, she had denounced and challenged him. If she failed, if she allowed such an incredible insult to be offered up to her, then she would always be what they labeled her. She refused to let that happen. She was no one's whore, had never been whore. She was _Mando'ad_ and she would show them all what that meant.

She would fight Dorvan in front of the entirety of the Enclave, in front of them all, with warriors and fighters assembled from throughout the clans. There, before the Mand'alor himself, right in front of Artus, whom her husband had spurned and denounced, she would demonstrate the strength and resolve of Clan Cadera. She'd win her son the pride of his name today.

Aily emerged from the spaceport straight into the dark and humid air of the Dromund Kaas jungle. She breathed deeply. She'd heard there were monstrous creatures, awesome beasts worthy of hunting, that populated the jungle environment. She would've liked to spend time, there, in a good hunt. But Dorvan would be her target this day. Not the animals of this planet but the _mir'osik_ who'd taunted and insulted her, rather.

That's when she heard the first shrieks and yells of alarm, looked over and saw a group of large, rowdy-looking men, three humans, one of whom was lifting a small girl child up into the air, his beefy hand clasping her neck in a terrible grip. He was shaking the child, hard enough the girl's long black braids whipped back and forth in the air. She gurgled sickly. But she still fought him fiercely. She kicked her small, skinny legs, lashing out with her tiny feet against the man's face. That, and she clawed against his hand and arm, digging her fingers in and leaving long, angry gouges in his pock-marked skin. He yelled angrily, especially when his two fellows laughed hard at seeing the damage the frantic little girl was making.

Aily frowned, just starting to wonder where the child's parents were, when she saw a woman rushing frantically towards the group, yelling at the men to let loose of her child. Aily stepped forward only slightly, gripping the lower edge of her electrostaff as she noted several soldiers in the doorway of the spaceport, each of them eyeing the altercation and arguing with each other about how they should respond. "Useless," she grunted, heard Korwis grunting his agreement.

The girl's mother grabbed her just then, still screaming at the men. She pulled against her daughter's waist, frantically trying to take her away from them, and succeeded in ripping her from the man's grip. The girl screamed as her face was caught against the man's glove, the metallic ridges ripping through her tender flesh. Her blood spurted wildly against her mother's shoulder as the woman stumbled back, holding her close.

It was ugly; facial wounds always bled so heavily, Aily knew. It was still hard to see a child bleeding like that.

"Damn you! There's no reason for this! If you have to kill me, then do it. But leave my children be!" The woman was crying, a terrible stream of tears streaming down her face. The violent thugs facing her were unmoved, though. The apparent leader of the group glared towards the child, even as he snarled. "You dumb bitch! It's the kids we're supposed to kill! You? You're just bonus, if we can get you. Better you hand over that little brat bitch of yours and run your ass off, or you'll die, too. It's nothing to me, either way. Pol! You and Stoven go and find the other two."

Korwis snarled an angry sound, a sentiment Aily completely agreed with. A bounty on the life of a child held no honor. Children were the promise of the future. They were to be cherished, made much of, held close and protected. It's no wonder whoever had paid for something so ugly had approached such lowborn cretins. One of the _Mando'ad_ would have regarded the request only long enough to beat the one who made it.

Aily watched with some degree of amazement, as the slim woman sneered up at her attackers. Such bravery in a civilian of the Empire was beyond impressive. She grunted softly in true respect of the woman's tenacity.

"I hope you rot! Bastards!" The woman snarled at the men, lashing out with one hand to punch the apparent leader of the trio as hard as she could, even as she maintained her hold of her little girl with her other arm. Pol and Stoven burst out into raucous laughter, as their compatriot loosed an "Oof" and curled around his midsection where the woman's blow had landed.

He thundered angrily, pushing his two laughing comrades aside, enraged he was still mocked and all because of some damn woman and her fool kid. The woman was already running away, clutching her daughter against her chest. He roared after her, and suddenly yanked a plasma grenade free from a pouch on his belt. Aily wondered for one wild moment where the filthy _chakaar_ had obtained such an expensive piece of weaponry; they were hardly common. But that only made it more likely he had little concept of how to use the thing or to even understand what sort of blast radius the thing could create.

She whipped around, yelling towards her son, "Torian! _Gar_ _hukatiir_!" The boy leapt into the shadows of the outer walls of the spaceport, pulling his dagger as he flew. Aily jumped into the space front of him, growling as she watched the grenade sail through the air to fall in the soft earth right in the path of the fleeing woman and her child. She felt certain she herself, and her son, too, were well out of range of the blast. But there were so many others who were not.

Aily watched, as the woman froze, as the light on the grenade blinked red, red, red – then, green. For just a moment, everything stopped. Aily heard Korwis calling aloud, "Everyone down!" And the woman shrieked, just once, before spinning around and curling herself around the small body of her child, shielding her from the blast that suddenly, viciously ripped through the entire area.

The gas from the explosion leaped up into the air before igniting into cruel flames. Aily heard screams, wild and crazed. Several burning figures ran in crazed and doomed circles before falling dead onto the ground. She leaned back and away from the heated air, watched as the explosion dissipated, and shook her head against the ringing in her ears.

She looked, to see that Korwis was already leaping, yelling a challenging cry towards the deranged assailant who'd lobbed the grenade and now stood, frozen in something like horror as he regarded the results. The Mandalorian didn't allow him much time to contemplate, though. Korwis swung his _beskad_, the blade swooshing through the air with an evil hiss, just before it embedded itself in the man's beefy chest. One of the others – Pol or Stoven, who could tell? – yelped and tried to run away. But Korwis neatly twisted in a smooth, engaging circle, sending his sword in an arc across the man's back. The fellow screamed once, before he fell over into a bloody heap. The last man cried out, fearful and angry, as he raised a pitiful set of daggers as if to defend himself. But he was too late. Korwis only grunted as he watched Aily's electrostaff thud against the very top of the man's head, caving in his skull and sending brains and gore flying in a squelching gush of sound. The poor fool had never even looked to see her jumping into the fray.

She yelled in triumph as she stood over the man's corpse, gripping her staff with bloody fingers. Korwis smiled as he watched her, felt his groin grow tight and hard with hot desire. But he stayed silent, biting back his feelings just as several soldiers came trotting up with blasters drawn, yelling.

"Don't move, hunters!"

Aily rolled her eyes towards the soldiers. "Look, Korwis. They found the door to the spaceport! Just in time to clean up the mess, no less." The Imperials made several more disparaging remarks as the Mandalorians stepped aside from the grisly remains of the three attackers. Aily just sighed as she watched them pick at the bodies.

"_Buir_!" Torian called to her from where he stood now, near the bodies of the fallen woman and her child.

The soldiers spun around, their weapons suddenly aiming towards the shouting figure. Aily growled at them. "If you stupid asses loose one single bolt towards my son, I'll rip your damn throats out with my bare hands." The soldiers' commander gaped at her, as she stood there clutching her staff and scanning each and every one of the men in front of her with a ruthless glare. Behind her, Korwis rubbed the edge of his _beskad_ with one of his thumbs, eyeing it for sharpness.

Aily shot them all one more threatening glare, just before she spun around to stomp over towards her son. Korwis smiled behind his helmet as he ambled along behind her.

Torian was standing over the dead woman, pointing his dagger at her as Aily stepped up to him. He grunted. "_Buir_, she lives."

But Aily shook her head, looking at the body sadly from behind her masked face. "There is no chance, _ad_. She has been too greatly wounded. Look at the blood she's lost. There is too much."

Torian shook his head. "Not her. The little one."

Aily was startled, especially when she saw the woman's body twitch as something pressed up against it. She jumped towards the bloody scrap of human flesh, reaching down to yank it up and away from what it covered. The small girl fell backwards, moaning pitifully in pain. She blinked up at Aily from a tiny face nearly soaked in blood, both her own and her mother's. She shrieked when she saw the Mandalorian helmet looming over, reaching up to punch as fiercely as she possibly could against it. Her tiny fist made a sorry clink as it hit the surface of Aily's visor.

Aily crooned down at her, trying to calm the wounded child, assuring her she was safe. But Korwis finally patted her shoulder, gesturing down at the girl. "She hears nothing. Look at her ears. She was too close to the blast, Aily." And Aily sighed as she took in the heavy stream of blood that descended from both of the child's ears. The damage was severe. She'd surely never hear again.

"She fought so fiercely, fights still. As her mother did. Truly impressive." Aily watched the girl, who had laid back and was now sniffing against the snot running down from her nose. Korwis nodded, "Already a strong warrior. Imagine her grown!"

Aily gestured towards the Imperial commander. "This child requires medical care."

He looked down at the girl, eyed her clothes and her dead mother, as well. "There's no chance, this one will die shortly."

Aily scowled. "Not if she is treated."

But he only shrugged. "No one will pay for it. And she's too far gone."

Korwis glared at him. "We'll pay. Where is the closest doctor?" The Imperial shrugged and pointed, "Kaas City, that way. You'll have to carry her yourself if you're looking to throw your credits away on a lost cause. I can't spare any of my men."

Korwis merely grunted as he reached down to retrieve the girl, listened to her crying even as she smacked his _beskar_ chest plate with a steady rain of blows. He tucked his head as close to her bloody ear as his helmet would allow and rumbled his voice, letting the vibration work to soothe the child. She finally settled back, watching him with pain-glazed brown eyes.

Aily nodded as she moved towards the transport heading into the inner reaches of Kaas City, Korwis moving along behind her with his shattered burden. She snarled at several people sitting on the benches lining the transport, until they scrambled out of the way so that Korwis could sit, settling the girl in his lap.

Aily watched as her son regarded the warrior child. He reached out with a soft cloth to gently wipe away the blood that saturated the right side of her face. She whimpered, her plump little lips quivering. But he placed his finger against her lips, shaking his head, silently telling her to be brave for just a little longer. So she bit her lip, even as her entire body trembled with pain. Torian nodded, pushing the cloth stained with her blood into his pack, just as the transport slid into place at the city entrance. But he deliberately stayed close enough she could still see him, and, Aily saw, the girl never took her eyes away from him.


	3. Chapter 2 -- Saying Goodbye (part 1)

Lucian Phyre leaned on the door, listening to the calls for patience coming from inside. Behind him, the droids he'd commandeered from the hospital lockers methodically worked the controls on the hovering kolto-misting stretcher balanced between the two of them. He could just barely make out the huddled shape of the little girl lying small and silent beneath the green cloud of kolto. He felt his eyes sting with unshed tears again, but he lowered his head, tearing his gaze away from his child, before the tears actually fell.

"_Ah, Tamerie. I hoped our children would never pay the price for our failure. Never dreamed it would be so terrible, either_." He blinked, furiously. "_Never wanted you hurt, either, love._"

The door was yanked open, then, and the large bulky shape of the clinic's physician filled the space in front of him. "Loosh? What the hell?" Tobies Moor stood there, jaw dropped as he considered the impossibly broken shape of his best and oldest friend.

He looked past him, then, towards the stretcher and the droids. The entire ensemble of characters was liberally soaked with the dark rain that was falling against the night-time sky above their heads. The scene was like something out of one of those novels Lucian used to read when they were on one of their long voyages in the Imperial Navy, when the missions came few and far between and there was so little else to do just to fill the time.

"Get inside, dammit. Before the rain washes away the kolto, at least!" Tobie waved the group inside, pulling and yanking the stretcher into the room behind the entrance-way foyer. He directed the droids to maintain treatment, as is, until he could better assess the patient, before turning back to Lucian, who, he saw, had slumped morosely into a chair at the desk just inside the room and was now gazing down at the floor. He was obviously busily formulating plans, as the pose was a long familiar one in Tobie's experience. The air of sad despondency, though – that was new.

For now, Tobie focused on the child. He scanned her quickly, noting her facial and cranial injuries with a practiced ease. Just because he no longer served on an Imperial battle cruiser was no measure of his skill. He was a damn good doctor, and he knew it. He applied every bit of experience he possibly could to treating this little girl with the care and alertness he sensed were so vital to his friend. This child mattered to Lucian, enough he'd snuck her down here, to him. And he'd repay that concern of Lucian's with his own precious attention.

He catalogued the child's wounds carefully.

Eardrums shattered beyond repair, so that natural hearing was a permanent loss. Implants could work to provide a cybernetic solution to the problem. But implants on a child would require regular, routine care over the years of time it would take for her to grow and develop into an adult. Expensive as hell.  
He glanced at Lucian, knew he'd pay, whatever the cost. Tobie shook his head.

Facial lacerations severe. Looked like something had mauled her. That, or someone ripped and gouged at her face. Who would do such a thing? Scars would be permanent. There was no solution to that sort of niggling problem. He might be able to mitigate the scarring only somewhat, and even that would take regular treatment for years to come.

Her neck was … it looked swollen and awry. If he had to guess, she'd actually been hung, strung up. But not by a rope. More like a … had someone held her up, by the neck? He shook his head again, this time in disgust. Her trachea was severely bruised. There was interior bleeding in the esophagus, as well. He suspected some of the cartilage in her throat had been lacerated when her throat was twisted and mishandled. On a positive note, her larynx had not been seriously damaged; it was bruised but would heal well by morning at the latest.

She'd not be mute as well as deaf, at least.

Tobie worked to clean the girl, removing her torn and bloody clothes and washing all of the blood off of her. He treated her facial cuts and bruises with various directly-applied kolto packets. Then he smoothed gels on her sore ears, to soothe the pain he knew she had to be feeling, there. Finally, he dressed her in a clean linen gown, a green one.

She woke up about halfway through Tobie's motions. She looked around warily, as if trying to find something. Or someone. But there wasn't any fear in her gaze, just pain. And something like sadness, too. As if what she was looking for wasn't there for the finding. She did see Lucian, though, and Tobie noted how her brown eyes teared up at the sight of him. She looked so glad to see him that Tobie wanted to cry, too. Then she looked up at Tobie himself, questioning, pained.

But she didn't say anything and Tobie didn't, either. Mostly because she wouldn't have been able to hear him even if he had spoken. But also because his head was spinning as he looked at her eyes. At Lucian's eyes, set in a tiny feminine face.

"_Ah, Loosh. What did you do?_" Even though adultery was illegal according to Imperial edict, it was hardly uncommon. What wasn't common was for high-ranking members of the Empire to even keep their by-blow children. Such children were _never_ acknowledged, in Tobie's experience. Most often, they were simply destroyed. Abortions were one of the most common procedures that Tobie was asked to perform in his little clinic in the Lower Reaches of Kaas City, in fact.

He patted the girl on the hand, gently, gesturing that she rest. He directed the two droids to continue treating her injuries as he'd noted and to apply necessary pain medication. Then he turned, finally, to join Lucian in his pensive position at the nearby table Tobie used as a desk and work space combined. Lucian hadn't moved, really, except to lift his head as he watched Tobie work over his daughter. He'd even smiled when the girl looked over at him.

The two men sat there quietly for several moments. They'd served together for nearly seven years, both of them young, brash officers in the Imperial Navy, both gifted medicinal experts. For a time, they'd competed to see which one of them could outperform the other. Tobie had been dedicated to treating and healing the injured, to fix their broken bones and torn flesh, out of a sense he was helping, doing some good. He'd lacked something essential to a battlefield medic, though, that Lucian possessed in spades. An easy ability to triage, to smoothly decide which patient would survive and which would not, moving on from those he knew would die seemingly without care or concern. And he never seemed to suffer guilt or remorse for the lives he couldn't save.

They'd argued so many times, until finally Lucian had waved a hand in Tobie's face, swearing. "Dammit, Tobies Moor! You're not cut out for this. Not because you're not a damn good doctor but because doctoring war-torn soldiers, just being there when they die and knowing that's all you can do – you can't handle it! Get out before it's too late, do something that makes you better!" And that's precisely why they sat together in Tobie's clinic, now, down among the dregs in the Lower Reaches, where Tobie so often got to feel he was doing some small decent good for the ordinary people of the Empire. He left it to Lucian to win the medals and accolades.

Now this.

"I have no right to ask, Tobie. But I'm going to, anyway." Lucian spoke so quietly Tobie almost didn't hear him.

"Are you joking, Lucian? Seriously? You do remember the times you saved my life, right? How many was it?" Tobie nodded towards him. "Let's not talk about what rights you have where I'm concerned."

Lucian snorted. "This isn't a simple healing, Tobie, and you know it."

Tobie eyed the child again, where she was lying there on the medical bed with the droids looming over her. Every so often she loosed a small moan of pain or distress. It was pitiful. "I know, Loosh. Gods, what happened? What the hell did you do? Why? You're going to lose everything, all of it? All your work, your rank!"

Lucian's eyes went dark. "I won't make excuses and I won't speak of my feelings. It is what it is, that's all. I can only do what's best and possible for my children. It's all that's left, and that's pathetically limited at this point, as you well know."

And Lucian spoke. He told Tobie of the woman he'd cared for, the house he'd set her up in. He said how he'd hidden her after Karen learned of their affair, how he'd visited her over the years only as he could, how he'd thrilled over the children they'd made together. Not one but three. And two were lost now. He didn't even know where they were, if they'd lived, and his eyes gleamed as he spoke of them. The attack had been stunningly effective in destroying his small secret family. He'd have lost them all, in fact, except for a group of Mandalorians jumping in to save this one tiny girl child of his at the very end.

"Mandoes? Who knew they would be so quick to do the right thing?" Tobie shook his head in bemusement.

Lucian shrugged. "They called her a 'warrior child' and carried her all the way to the hospital. I think they would have carried her right back out with them if they hadn't had business elsewhere to contend with. Even then, they promised to return and retrieve her. I snuck her out only after they'd gone." He smiled wryly. "It was actually rather fascinating to watch them. And pleasing. I was … grateful."

Tobie sighed, then. "What are you going to do, Loosh?"

Lucian canted his head. He pushed a datapad across the table, until Tobie took it up in his hand to study the information Lucian had recorded there. "There's an account in her name, for one. I've transferred a sum, there. It should cover all her treatments, because I know there will be many over the years. There should be some small bit left over for her once she's grown." Lucian became deadly serious, then. He looked at Tobie with firm, hard eyes. "Don't let them find her, Tobie. If anyone of Karen's family ever knows she survived, they'll hire more killers to come after her. Eventually they'll find someone capable of doing more than blindly tossing a fucking grenade at her."

"Lucian, no! You can't think to confront Karen! Damn, Lucian, no! If she's as mad as you say, she'll kill you. She'll really kill you!" Tobie waved his hands wildly. "You have to run. You take her, once she's healed enough, and you run and hide!"

But Lucian was shaking his head. "Maybe. But I can't leave Lusiel and Khyriel, either. No, Tobie! I won't abandon them, not like that! Even if I die tonight, it's better than leaving them behind."

Tobie's shoulders slumped. Lucian's devotion to his children had always been extraordinary. Every voyage had been marked with stories about their development, their achievements. He'd heard endlessly about his daughter's first steps and his son's first words. He knew Lucian loved them more than anything, certainly more than he cared for their mother and even more than the Empire he served so faithfully, too. He'd only never imagined his love for them included several half-siblings, as well.

He looked back at the medical bed. "She looks a lot like your Lusiel."

Lucian grunted. "They all look like me, Tobie. All of them. Tamerie once joked that my genes didn't allow for doubt, as if they were setting out to prove something. And maybe they were." He looked over towards his daughter again. "Kas is special, have no doubt, Tobie. Of all my children, she's more like me than any of the others. She even thinks like me, in fact."

Tobie smiled at the pride in his voice. "Kas? Her name's Kas?"

"Kastiel. One of the old gods, Tamerie thought. Her mother used to tell her stories. It means 'to cover by God'. Tamerie liked it." He smiled sadly. Then he gestured once again towards the datapad. "I included a recorded message for her. When she's older maybe. And some others, too. You'll understand when you see them."

Tobie sighed, near crying. "You don't believe you'll come back."

Lucian reached out, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "No. I don't. It doesn't mean I won't try. But even if I manage to beat Karen and get the children out of there, her family will surely come after me, then. My chances aren't good, my friend."

He climbed wearily to his feet, then, before moving across the room to where his daughter was lying. He leaned over her, so that she could see him. She blinked up at him, tired and hurting, and she whimpered. "Da," she whispered, and her small voice quivered. He smoothed his fingers down the unmarked side of her face, crooning to her how much he cherished her and how glad he was for her. Then he leaned over, close to her damaged, bandaged ear, and he whispered his wish, even knowing she couldn't hear him, not anymore and not ever again. Damn you, Karen, he thought.

But to Kastiel, he was warm. He said to her, "Be everything I've dreamed you could be. Be strong. Be brave. Be safe. I hope you never forget how much we loved you. Goodbye, my little one." Then he moved back and away from the bed. He nodded towards Tobie, who still stood frozen as he watched him. The last thing he heard as he walked out the door was Tobies Moor's final promise.

"I'll cherish her as my own, Lucian. You have my word."

It was enough.

* * *

**My original Bounty Hunter playthrough was named, yes, for the angel Castiel from the show called "Supernatural". For those interested, the name really does mean, "To Cover by God." According to old lore, the angel Castiel was the Angel of Thursday, of changes and travel. He would help anyone who was born on a Thursday. He was also the angel of the planet Jupiter.**

**In the show, "Supernatural", Castiel is played by the actor Misha Collins. He comes to Earth to defend humankind from the ravages of the Apocalypse. The hero character of the show, Dean Winchester, considers Castiel one of his best friends.**


	4. Chapter 3 -- Saying Goodbye (part 2)

Dorvan pressed her hard. He was a large warrior, although he didn't loom over her too much. But his bulk lended him strength enough, that Aily had to dance out of the way of the swings he made with the two exceedingly sharp cortosis blades he wielded. She finally shot a glancing blow to his left knee that felled him smoothly, leaving her to stand over him, her staff clutched in her sweaty grip, as she contemplated the downed warrior.

Aily reached down to seize for herself the blade he'd dropped to the ground when his knee gave out underneath him. She waved it in his face. "Your weapon is mine! As is my honor! Say it and live to fight again!"

Around where they panted, glaring at each other, the crowd grumbled and shifted. The warriors from so many clans looked to see what Dorvan would do and Aily wasn't surprised when he shot a glance and a growl of frustration. To have so many witness your defeat was a tough blow. But he could get up and walk away, could learn from the experience, could live. Or he could die.

Aily left the choice to him, because it really didn't matter to her. Her honor had been reaffirmed, her son's honor had been reaffirmed. That was all that mattered, in the end.

Dorvan finally nodded, grudgingly, even though his eyes remained hard and mean. Aily grunted, turning to leave. That's when Dorvan called out to her, yelling, "Prove it!" She turned back to him, frowning. The warriors gathered around them quieted, too, everyone straining to listen. Over Dorvan's shoulder, Aily could see Artus – Mandalore, she had to remember to think of him as Mandalore – scowling as Dorvan pulled himself back to his feet, leaning heavily on one leg as he snarled at her.

"Prove you're not a disloyal dog like Jicoln Cadera. Show us, all, that you fight for Mandalore. Bring us Jicoln's head, give it to the Mandalore as proof." Dorvan pointed a large, round finger in her face. Aily glanced around, saw the faces of the warriors. While many were angry enough to mumble about Dorvan's temerity in the face of defeat, the gall he showed in issuing yet another challenge after she'd already overcome one – there were still far too many gazes that dropped, too many sidelong glances, too many mumbles about Aily's real loyalty.

Mandalore pushed his chin up, yelling so that he could be heard. "The challenge was made and won already, Dorvan. There is no need for more."

Dorvan clenched his jaw, unwilling to argue with Mandalore in front of so many. But Aily nodded. "Very well, Dorvan. You will have your proof. You will know that Clan Cadera is loyal to Mandalore. You will see it for yourself. I vow, today, that I myself will bring Mandalore Jicoln's body, or die in the trying. Then you will know that we Caderas honor the _Resol-Narre_, because it will be a Cadera who destroys Jicoln."

Dorvan grunted. "Your vow is witnessed, Aily Cadera. I am satisfied."

Aily turned then, finding her son where he still stood silently next to Korwis, his chin held high in that pugnacious manner that reminded her yet again of his father. She stepped over to them, to her son, that she fought for, and to the man she was now certain would teach and guide him. Because she knew there was little chance she'd defeat Jicoln. If she did, it would only be through his own concession, and her husband would never concede.

Korwis was watching her with bright blue eyes blazing hot and wild. He knew. Torian, though. She looked at her son. Torian didn't know his father, had never fought alongside him, had never known him. Jicoln's revolt began while Torian still nursed. He was only learning to walk when Jicoln disappeared onto Taris. Her son continued to believe no one could win against his mother, because no one ever had, in his experience.

So she turned to Korwis. "You must do this. Only promise me. He will always have his father's name. He must show them, Korwis! He must show them the _aliit_ is truly _mando'ad_. Promise me!"

Korwis nodded. "It will be done, Aily." Then he glanced over, watchful. "Mandalore comes."

Aily turned to face Artus, nodding as he stepped closer. "You honor me, Mandalore."

Mandalore waved a hand. "Forget that. We have always been friends, Aily. Do not take let me lose your friendship as well as his." He sighed, then, and his shoulders slumped. "I didn't want this, never wanted this to happen."

Aily shook her head. "What we want and what we get are very often two very different things, old friend."

Mandalore looked down at Torian, eyed his big golden brown eyes looking up at him. "I could take him as my own, Aily."

"No. You won't. He's Jicoln's son, and that won't change. I won't have it. He'll do what is required to restore our clan's honor. You will have no say in his course, Artus. Do you understand?" Aily glared at him, her chin pushed out firmly, challengingly.

But Mandalore only chuckled, unperturbed in the face of the warrior's offense. "Leave off, Aily. It'll be as you say. He'll remain a Cadera, and fight every step of the way for it, too. It's a hard course you've set him on but he's your blood. Perhaps even more than Jicoln's. It's good." He glanced around, considering. "I was hopeful this would be the end of it, Aily. I see now my hopes were foolish. Perhaps our children will fix what it is we broke so badly, then. _Re'turcye mhi_!"

Aily watched as Mandalore walked away. He didn't look back. She sighed as she turned once again to face her son. She kneeled in front of him, speaking softly, then. "My _ad_. You will always be so. I have loved you and always will. Remember that, when the times are at their worst, that you were precious to me. Look to Korwis, he will show you the way. Someday you will show them all that Cadera is a name of pride and honor once again. I am proud of you, even as I think on it."

"Copaani gaan?" Korwis asked her, his eyes shining. But Aily shook her head. "Not in this, no, Korwis. Just …" And Korwis nodded at her, solemnly. He whispered his farewells, then. He didn't speak of his feelings, only because there was no need. That, and Aily would not have accepted them. Not even now. She only stood there and watched as Korwis guided her son out of the enclave, his hand firm on the boy's shoulder. She didn't cry. She was _Mando'ad_. Tears weren't necessary when a warrior departed.

* * *

Mandalore sent her son the _beskar_ gauntlets she'd worn as she fought and died under the hot Taris sun. Torian clutched them when Korwis handed them to him. He turned and looked out over the red sky of Geonosis, frowning.

"She died as a warrior, didn't she, _vod_?" He looked up at Korwis, then, his features puckering with concern.

"Yes, _ad'ika_. Very much a warrior."

Torian nodded. "I am _her_ son."

Korwis smiled. "Yes. You are."


	5. Chapter 4 -- Not just a Mentor

Kastiel ducked her head as she entered the cantina, trying to avoid striking her forehead against the top edge of the doorframe, in fact. Sullustans were generally shorter than humans and their buildings reflected that more diminutive stature of theirs. Luckily, Kastiel only hit her head one single time, shortly after arriving on Sullust, and she never forgot to duck again.

Kas never really forgot anything. Her ability to remember everything - every sensation, color, feel, even smell – of her experience was part of her own peculiar skill set, one she used often as she went about her hunts. What she did forget … well, that was deliberate, a willful setting aside of information and details that she didn't want to dwell on, so that she didn't, period. From what she could tell from talking to others, her concept of "forgetting" wasn't necessarily truly forgetting, either. More like, "just not thinking about that", which to her was just as close to a "forget about it" as anything.

Kastiel glanced around the cantina, which was purely busy, of course. Like most cantinas, the place was teeming with characters from varied species and as many worlds, even if Sullustans did make up a fairly large number of the cantina-goers right then. But Sullustans were among the least xenophobic of species in the galaxy, making their home system a hot spot for visitors from everywhere and anywhere. Kas spied several Wookies, bent over or sitting down near the back of the cantina, and even a Talz, his bright white fur glimmering as he chortled over something, there near the bar.

"What's the matta with yer face?" An obscenely drunk human almost fell over onto Kastiel as he spoke. She rolled her eyes as she watched a spot of drool gather at his lips. Men, she thought. So precious few of them worth anything more than a laugh. And even then it was so hard to laugh sometimes.

"If I were you, I'd be far more worried about the state of your own face. You know, before I smash it with my fist." She shook her head at him, causing the end of her black hair to smooth against the soft curve of her jaw. A small braid along the right side of her face was designed to tease the eye away from her scarred face. The effort was sometimes lost on the idiots around her.

"Hey! No need to be like that. Just … your face looks kinda chewed up. And metallic, too." The drunkard laughed. But then he scanned her figure with a telling gaze. "Hell, I'd be willing to give you a toss, never mind. Sure thing, yea," he said, eyeing her breasts as they swelled against the edges of her thick leather chest armor.

Kastiel raised her eyes heavenward, praying for patience to whatever old god might still be listening, an old habit she took from her mother, who'd delighted in sharing stories about the old gods with her children. But she was saved from replying – or beating the damn fool, which she was more inclined to do by the moment – when Braden finally arrived, reaching out to snatch at the shoulder of the lout before he actually did something stupid as shit. Like actually touch her, as his upraised hands indicated he was about to try.

"Oh, ho! Old Jikso! Long time no see! Why don't you go molest one of the twi'leks looking for credits, huh? Leave off the hunters." Braden leaned in to whisper against the man's ear. "She'll cut off your cock. I've seen her do it before, Jikso, I swear! Better hightail it before it's too late!"

Kastiel smirked at the fool named Jikso. What an absolutely absurd name. Jikso gulped as he cupped his genitals and began edging out of her line of sight. Braden chuckled as he watched the man tiptoe away. Kas glared at the aging bounty hunter, then. "Cut off his cock? Where the fuck do you come up with crap like that?"

"Practice. I've taken it upon myself to protect the virtue of females in recent years." Braden shrugged. "At least some females, anyway. Okay. One female. Goodness knows, she needs it."

"Braden, I'm stunned. Have you finally fallen in love? Who is she?"

"Love? Hell no! I'm too damn old for that shit. There are more days I'm just glad to still be alive, in fact." Braden shook his head. "No, Kas. My days of woman-hunting are long over. I did manage to find a little castoff girl a couple years back, though. Been taking care of her."

Kastiel smoothed her fingers against the metal implants that sliced across her face, just under each eye. Just an anxious habit, which didn't necessarily mean she was hurting or even distressed. Always _aware_, is all. "You and Tobie always were a pair."

"Hey, now! Don't go comparing me to that weak-willed ninny of a doctor friend of yours, Kas! And I don't believe for a minute you were ever a castoff." He eyed her with a steady comprising gaze for just a moment. "No, you were important to someone. You ended up where you did very deliberately."

She stared at Braden very seriously. Too seriously. He knew all of a sudden that she was regarding him as a possible threat. He wasn't offended, not in the least. Her careful and methodical appraisal of targets was part of the reason he'd sought her out, here, anyway.

He'd been tossing jobs her way for several years now, and that despite the regular complaints from Tobies Moor, who'd become a friend of his after he stumbled into the man's clinic with a hole in his stomach a good seven years ago. Tobie had gladly doctored his wounds. He hadn't been so glad when his foster daughter took to following after Braden asking questions about hunting. The arguments had proved heated at times, especially when Kastiel struck out on her own and started taking jobs over Tobie's objections.

_"Dammit, Kas! Your mother was killed by hunters!"_

_"Is that what they were, Tobie? I think we both know they were little more than thugs, just dumb brutes that were picked out of the crowd at some low-class cantina, most like. Gods, Tobie! I want to be able to take on the next set of bastards that come for me, can't you understand that?"_

Braden hadn't been meant to overhear that argument. He'd certainly not tried to. And he'd never acknowledged it.

Even at nineteen, though, Kastiel was already making a small name for herself. Wasn't even unusual lately for someone to call Braden asking how to get in touch with her, in fact. Her skills in a fight were more than enough, of course. But she could as easily fix what she broke, too. Good 'ole Tobie had invested a really serious level of medical ability in the girl. It meant her jobs were mostly protective in nature, with her usually acting as guard or bodyguard. Not that she wasn't a deadly as shit opponent if circumstances required it, either. Braden himself would hesitate to take her on, if asked to.

He remembered telling Mako about her. "_Fast as hell with a blaster and she always hits what she shoots at. She can look over a battlefield and systematically take it apart, in minutes flat. You should see her go at it – like fucking art!_" Tobie had gotten a funny look on his face when Braden assured him of Kastiel's skills and abilities. He'd muttered something about her father, in fact. Braden hadn't pressed him to clarify.

For now, he shook his head. "What have you been up to out here, Kas? This wasn't one of my jobs," Braden glanced around. He wasn't sure he would've sent Kastiel anywhere close to Sullustan, now that he thought on the subject. Too many Imperial eyes were in the system.

Kastiel shrugged. "Hired by an old gangster to watch over his son. Apparently, the kid ran up against a Sith. Didn't go too well for him, obviously. His brother died and he barely pulled through. It'll take him years and loads of implants. He'll be half machine by the time they're done with him."

"So bodyguard and sometime medic?"

"Hey, it's a living. Job's wrapping up, though. Jarvis is moving his son closer to Republic space pretty soon. Get the feeling he isn't too keen on the Empire at the moment. At least that's how I'm taking all the times he says something like 'fuck 'em, all!'"

Braden leaned back as a tiny twi'lek waitress reached between them to place drinks on the table. Kas passed her a credit chip, complete with tip. She watched as Braden hunkered over his drink after the waitress moved away. He was finally coming to the meat of this little meeting, she knew. "Good. You'll be free for another job soon enough, then. I need you, Kas. I don't think there's another hunter better suited to pull this one off. I've already starting putting the team together."

Kastiel sipped the liquor, carefully regarding him. "What's the job?"

"Rumors are starting to move through the systems pretty quick, of course. But it's important we put the team together before we start really talking business."

She shook her head. "I don't know, Braden. You know I'm leery about working too long with any team. And if this is a job that already involves rumors …?"

"Yea, I know, Kas. But this? Kas, it comes from the Enclave itself! It'll bring you to the attention of the clans when you pull it off!" Braden was adamant. "Think what it would mean if you had backing like that!"

She stared at him, thinking. "Why would the Mandalorians look outside their numbers for a job?"

"Tradition, in this case." Braden leaned back. "Look, you're literally the only hunter I want for this. You have the raw talent, the nerve and determination, the sheer damn bravery to get through anything thrown at you – you can do this, I know it! Just … here." Braden held out a datapad, letting Kastiel look over the map and directions he'd downloaded on the device. He knew Kastiel would remember the information once she looked at it. "I'll be there. I want you to meet up with us by Zhellday of next week."

"Nal'Hutta, Braden? Gods, that's a cesspool."

"Certainly a far cry from Sullustan, yea. You're not going to find a LavaRide there, at least. They might be able to profit from a mudslide. But who the hell would want to go sliding through any sort of Hutt-slimed mud, huh?" He chuckled. But Kastiel was still frowning at him.

"Why the Hutts?"

"We need to use them, to get you into the running." Braden leaned in close again. "Come on, Kas. Just meet me there. It's Mandoes! You've watched them for years, I know you have. And I know you'll want this."

Kastiel snorted. "I don't even know what _this_ is."

"Trust me."

"Seriously? Who the hell do you think I am?"

"The Hunter who's going to win the Great Hunt. That's who."

* * *

**Sullust was located among the Outer Rim Planets. It straddled a couple of major trade routes and supported a thriving economy devoted mostly to starship, computer, and droid manufacture. One of its moons, Sulon, provided agricultural support to the planet's population. **

**The LavaRide was a tourist attraction that provided visitors with the chance to be encased in special glass bubbles that moved through the many volcanoes on the planet. It was actually very safe, although a later sport that involved bubbled-players that tossed a ball back and forth proved more hazardous, although profitable to betting pools.**


	6. Chapter 5 -- The Poison Pit

Kastiel huffed an angry sigh as her boot slid through a puddle of … something green. She eyed the stuff balefully, unable to identify what it was or had been. "_Probably some kind of shit_," she thought with disgust. Hutt worlds were notorious for being covered in crap, even if most of it came in the form of waste spewed from their factories and manufacturing plants. Didn't surprise her that most of the people that surrounded the Hutts gradually grew to be just as shit brown and crap green as their worlds, too.

Kastiel generally avoided jobs that involved any creature that would sell its mother for a profit and few creatures were as notorious for such ploys as the Hutts. The last Hutt she'd worked for had been a minor slug, barely a spot in the Cartel, in fact, down on the planet of Tatooine. His name was Whuddle, which made it purely difficult for Kas every time she had to sing out how "great" he was, because intoning, "The great Whuddle the Hutt," was just plain funny somehow.

But she'd managed to keep from laughing during the two months she worked for him to find and destroy some jackass who thought he could assassinate the Hutt, nonetheless. She considered it a telling mark of her sheer professionalism.

She heard a grunt from the doorway in front of her and turned to watch as a skinny runt of a human was summarily booted, with a very literal boot placed squarely on his ass, right out the door. He fell with a loud oof onto the ground in front of Kastiel's boots. She grinned when she saw his face slide through the green shit. She looked up, then, to note the glare of warning the bouncer who'd thrown him out was slicing her way. Unperturbed, Kastiel winked at him, tossing him a saucy grin as he snorted and ducked back inside the cantina.

Kastiel looked up to note the name of the cantina again. "The Poison Pit … well, at least the name fits," she muttered.

The man lying at her feet groaned just then. "You could lend me a hand up, friend."

Kastiel looked down at him, noticed he was still covering the green goo with his body. She smiled, placing her foot firmly on his ass, using it to boost herself up and over the puddle of crap as she continued along her way into the cantina. She laughed as the fellow shouted curses towards her back. Get your entertainments when and where you can, Kas thought, as she stepped through the doorway into the Pit.

The bouncer was sitting on one of the benches just inside the entrance. He glared at her again. This time, Kas shrugged at him. But he backed up the glare with a more verbal warning, too. "Stay out of trouble, little girl. Or I'll stomp you!" She was unimpressed enough to snort at him, staring around at the milling crowd of humans, droids, and aliens.

She ignored the catcalls sent her way as she began pushing her way through the group towards the hallway leading off from the back of the room, knowing such idiots called out to any creature sporting a pair of tits. She'd had just as many fools ask her to hide her face before they'd actually touch her, in fact. Kas just plain didn't waste her time with men anymore. She focused on her work, rather.

Which was why Kastiel ended up with her blaster pointing firmly and smoothly in the face of a Nikto enforcer as soon as she stepped through the door leading into the room Braden had described to her, watching the scaled face of her target with pursed lips. The Nikto grunted as he faced her threat, his own rifle clenched in rough green fingers.

"Jory! That's our main attraction, dammit! And she'll blow your horns off if you're not careful!" Braden shouted at the Nikto from across the room. Kastiel grunted with satisfaction as the lizard man finally lowered his rifle and moved towards a seat nearby where Braden was standing.

"What is it with you telling people I'm going to remove their body parts?" Kas glared at Braden.

He shrugged. "You might."

"Nah. If I shoot someone, it's usually with the hope he won't get back up again."

"Good rule of thumb. You might live longer that way."

Kastiel shrugged. "That's the plan."

Braden chuckled. "Good to see you're settling in with the team already, at least. Jory, there, provides our security around our base of operations, basic muscle." Kastiel nodded towards the buffed Nikto. "And this is Mako, little genius I picked up on Nar Shaddaa. She'll provide us our intel and tech."

Kastiel nodded. "Good, yea, right. Nice meeting you both." Kas looked towards Braden, very serious. "Now. Tell me about this Hunt. What do the Mandalorians want from it?"

Braden smiled. "The Hunt is an old tradition among the clans. Although it's no longer confined only to the Mandalorians. Nor to the moon of Dxun, either. Now the competition is open to any and all of the great warriors throughout the galaxy. And every winner of the Hunt has gone along to great glory and riches."

"The Mandalore himself won a Hunt and challenged for the position of Mandalore, then. There was also Jew'la Nightbringer, the Defenestrator, and Bloodworthy, too. Hedarr Soongh was the youngest hunter to ever win the Hunt, and he went on to become a Mandalorian." The slight figure Braden called Mako provided the information with eagerness. Kas smiled as she took in the girl's enthusiasm.

"So it's a test of some kind? What are the Mandalorians are looking for from the winner?" Kastiel supposed, thoughtfully.

Braden nodded proudly. "Yes. Although none of us will know what they're hoping to find through this Hunt. Not until you win it, of course. And when you do, you'll be younger than Soongh was when he won." He watched Kastiel's eyes, saw her dark eyes deepen with the most tempting sort of desire, gleaming richly in the pale creaminess of her face. He smiled. Yes, she wanted it, wanted that title of Champion. A good beginning, he thought.

"Where do we start, Braden?"


	7. Chapter 6 -- Not Strong Enough

Kastiel watched the gunslinger preening in front of her. Seriously. He preened. She was baffled, even looked around to verify if this was the correct hangar. Because surely this peacock of a figure wasn't the dangerous fugitive from Imperial justice that Mako had described earlier. But no. He even talked of himself in third person, and that was the name of the fellow she was looking for, so he really was Vexx, the fugitive gunslinger who robbed Imperial payrolls.

Amazing, she thought, eyeing his slicked back thick brown hair and pure mocha complexion. He was either such a brainless twit he didn't know better. Or he was actually trying to help her collect her bounty on him. She scanned his pristine and brightly colored coat, along with the pearled handles on his blasters. Brainless. Had to be.

"What's this? A lawman of sorts? Never thought I'd see the day dashing Vexx would be cornered by a brute enforcer." He tossed his snotty nose in the air.

Kas looked him up and down. "Not sure dashing is the word you're looking for."

He snorted. She almost asked him if he needed a tissue for that amount of snottiness, in fact. "As if I'm just some ordinary thug, hah! Vexx is the greatest quick-draw artist. Vexx can shoot your ears off so fast you won't even hear yourself scream."

Kas actually laughed, then. "Vexx, I'm already deaf. And it has nothing to do with losing my ears. They're still attached, even. Not sure you understand how hearing works, you poor dog."

"What? You some kinda doctor?"

"Yep. You obviously weren't smart enough, huh?"

"Shut up!"

She watched him yank at the handle of his blaster but he stopped short, looking down the barrel of her own weapon before he could finish his pull. She shook her head at him, "I thought you said you were the quickest, Vexx?"

"I hate you!"

"Really? And here I thought we were getting along so well, too."

He literally lunged at her, then. He barreled into her chest, so that they both tumbled to the ground with Vexx trying to sit up on top of Kastiel's stomach. She saw his fist raise up as he clenched his fingers. But she only blinked, and then snarled, using her own fist to sock the gunslinger in the large target his stomach had now become before he could get the blow off that he was working on, there. Vexx humphed in pained distress, curling up against the sour hurt that kept him from drawing in a breath. But she didn't give him time enough to recover.

Kas twisted her legs, smoothly tossing the gasping gunslinger off of her and scrambling to her feet. Vexx tried raising his blaster this time. But she was already placing the round hole of her pistol's barrel against his temple. "Still not quick enough, sorry." She watched as his head disintegrated under the force of the bolt singing through it. Blood spurted wildly, most of it from the back of his head, leaving large and obscene smears against the side of the shuttle Vexx had been working on when she invaded the hangar, but some blood splashed against her blaster and hands, too. She wiped that blood off using the outer layers of Vexx's fancy coat as she searched him for the identification tags the bounty required.

Kas gaped when she pulled Vexx's tags loose from where he'd tucked them. The damn things were crusted with pretty gems. Then she looked back at the body, dumbfounded. "Are you joking? Diamonds, Vexx? Gods, what an ass." She pocketed the things as she began walking towards the doorway to the hangar, shaking her head. It was right then that a Houk barreled into the hangar, shouting, "Damn you, you stupid Vexx, you shoulda waited for me! How do you expect me to keep yer hide in one piece when you don't wait for me?!"

He stopped when he caught sight of Kastiel, standing there with her blaster held at her side, glaring at him. He scanned her rapidly, taking in the pale leathered armor covering her torso and her scowling scarred countenance. Then he glanced past her towards the red bloody mess that used to be Vexx.

The Houk humphed. "Well, at least I don't have to worry bout chasing after the lout anymore. Yea, yea, no problem, hunter. I'm goin'."

Kastiel only shook her head as she watched the Houk lumber his big, clumsy way back out of the hangar, his hands held up in a pacifistic gesture that she didn't trust at all. Houks were notoriously bad-tempered and prone to violence. A smart person didn't turn their backs on a threatening Houk, as a general rule. So Kas kept her eyes peeled as she sauntered out of the spaceport, heading back towards the Pit.

She fingered the jewel-encrusted tags as she moved along. But she eventually started shooting some dirty looks at the gang members loitering along the muddy streets, which she then followed with some bolts from her blaster. She grinned as the thugs began shouting angry invectives towards her before too long. Nothing like the song of bitter pain so early in the day, she thought.

Combine that with Braden's pleasure at being able to move forward in winning Nemroh the Hutt's support in her bid for sponsorship and the day was shaping up to be a purely perfect series of hours. She nearly danced into the Pit, waving towards the bouncer at the door, and just laughed when he snarled back, "I'll stomp ya, girl! Don't think I won't!" Kastiel's grin slid away, though, when she ducked through the door into her team's rooms.

She saw Jory first. The nikto was stretched out on the floor, with both arms flung out to his sides. He'd obviously tried to defend Braden, who was lying on the floor behind him. Both men were bloody and burned from blaster fire, with Jory's eyes frozen solid as he stared silently at the ceiling with his dead gaze. Braden's back was to her, so she was spared from actually looking at the face of her murdered friend.

Kastiel just stared at them, agonized, silently aching as memories of her mother's dying sounds screamed through her mind. She dropped her gaze, trying to keep from hyperventilating, gasping quietly and whispering, "Ah, Braden. I'm sorry, old man. So sorry." She wanted to kick someone, something. But her mind was screaming, shrilly. All she could think was of the loss. She always lost them, these people who were important to her - lost them because she wasn't able to keep them safe, because she wasn't strong enough to save them.

She had a sudden memory of her childish self rushing towards the man who threatened her mother, her family, who'd chased them through the streets all the way to the spaceport. She'd fought so hard to save them, to protect them. But she'd lost them anyway, and it didn't matter how hard she hit, kicked, or bit against that man. He'd taken them from her, with deadly intent, stood there watching as they died in a storm of fire and gas.

She wasn't strong enough.

But she _had_ to be. Standing there, staring at her dead friend - the man who'd guided her through her first hunts, who'd laughed as she rolled her eyes through his jokes and stories, who'd insisted she let go of her resentment towards men who only ever taunted and mocked her scarred visage – Kastiel felt herself firming with determination, even if the process was purely painful. She wouldn't allow it again! She swore it to herself, her verbal vow shattering the eerie quiet of the room. "I'll not let them take anyone else from me, Braden, dammit. Do you hear me? No one!"

And then Mako strolled into the room, clutching a bag full of food, it looked like. The girl stopped when Kas spun around to face her, her hand on the handle of her blaster in a purely defensive gesture. "What's wrong with you, huh? Did you …?" She glanced past Kastiel towards the bloodied bodies lying on the floor behind the hunter. "What the hell! Jory! No! Braden!"

Kastiel stood frozen and silent as the young girl collapsed next to Braden's body, sobbing wildly. She recalled Braden's mention of her back on Sullust, the way he'd sheepishly grinned as he spoke of taking care of her. She shook her head, now. It simply wasn't fair, she thought. "I'm sorry, Mako. I know how hard this is for you."

"You can't possibly know! He was like a father to me!" Mako sobbed. Kastiel bit her lip against her own angry retort. Wasn't like it would help right then, wouldn't make either of them feel any better. So she just kept quiet as Mako's sobs continued and finally wound down into brief and pitiful whimpers. "What happened?"

"I have no idea. I came back and found them … like this. Didn't you set up security vids?"

"Yes! Here, let me access the recording." Mako bent over the console, muttering briefly as she worked, low enough Kas wasn't able to hear. But finally an image sputtered into place over the terminal and the two of them leaned close to watch the recording that showed the altercation that ended with their friends splayed out dead on the floor.

Kastiel examined the face of Braden's killer. The fellow who pulled the trigger didn't interest her half as much as the pretty-faced bastard who directed him to do so. Kas clenched her hands into fists as she closely memorized the Mando's face, his angled jaw, flush complexion, and glittering eyes. His smug air of self-importance offended her, the way he held his head offended her, the fact he breathed offended her. Kas huffed briefly, turning briefly to Mako to swear to her, "Look at that face, remember it. Because that's the face I'm going to gladly turn into a pulp, so it's not half so sweet-looking."

Mako grunted. "Just promise I'm there to watch, okay?"

"Shit, Mako. I'll let you put a bolt in his face, too, if it makes you feel better."

Mako finally smiled. Even if it was a sorry, sad little turn of the lips. But living and moving on had to start somewhere, didn't it?

* * *

**Sorry it's taken me this long to update. But I've been working to get my SWTOR 50's geared up with their fancy HK-51 droids. And when you have no less than six 50's and refuse to waste the credits or cash, the effort takes a while, lol. Hope you enjoy the chapter.**


	8. Chapter 7 -- Sorry

Mako felt like a total bitch as she watched Kastiel move towards the door, even as those ugly words she'd tossed at the hunter echoed in her memory. She shouldn't have said it, that Kas couldn't possibly understand. She'd known even as the words tumbled out that they were wrong, had seen the flash of pain the hunter bit back and hid deep inside.

Mako wanted to smack herself. Kas hadn't done anything to deserve it, mostly. But also because she sensed how completely the hunter kept things bottled up, her pains hidden deep. Hurt like that, it festered and ate at a person. And just like clockwork, she watched as Kastiel went and clammed up on her, just withdrew behind that shell of defensive toughness.

I am so glad I'm not going to be on the receiving end of that woman's blaster , Mako thought, shuddering. She had no doubt Kastiel was going to use whatever targets that Nemr'oh sent her after to relieve the incredible angry pain she was struggling with right now, anyway.

Mako absently rubbed a small hand over the implants studding her eyebrow. Kastiel's implants ran in a downward arch under each one of her eyes and connected to thicker implants embedded in the shells of her ears. She guessed Kastiel was deaf except for the implants. Plus, they were old, even if the quality of the work was patently obvious. But it was obvious to Mako that Kas had been forced to rely on her implants for most of her life and only because of a real trauma. Not like Mako's, which someone had deliberately foisted on her so long ago she couldn't even remember receiving them.

Someone had hurt Kastiel, though. On purpose. When she was really little. Mako had wondered about it, of course. Even asked Braden. But he hadn't said much about her history, not even where she was from. He'd stuck mainly to discussions about her skills and determination, rather. He'd shook his head when Mako pondered over it. "Sometimes you're too curious for your own good, girl. Those marks on her face represent a helluva lot of bad memories, is all. It's not my place to ask her about them and I haven't, either. You should keep your nose out of that business, too." Mako had thought about it for a while, before finally coming to understand what Braden was trying to tell her.

Kastiel was one of those people who never really shared herself – not with anyone, ever. Life had simply been too hard on her to allow for comfortable relationships, anyway. No, Kas would only ever open up to someone she trusted implicitly, deeply. That person would be the one she not only killed for, because killing people was pretty much a standard for Kastiel. No, the one she let that close would be the one she'd willingly die for.

And Mako knew, that banging against Kastiel's self-defensive shell, or merely pressing her for that much intimacy, even, was a surefire way to never get it.

She looked down at her hands, where the hunter had pressed a bracer marked with Braden's colors. The bracer was scuffed and torn, an obvious claw mark of some kind running along the bottom half of the leather piece. Mako hadn't asked Kastiel where she got the thing, even though she could tell Kas had carried and worn it for years. She'd just nodded when Kas asked that it be offered up to Braden's pyre. It felt right, she thought, to give back to Braden whatever gift he'd given to the hunter and for Kas herself to keep the bracer's twin, a sign she'd never forget him.

Then Mako turned around, to face the bloody room. She felt herself tearing up once again. But this time, she dug her teeth into her lower lip, biting hard to divert her attention away from crying. She didn't have time to cry, anyway. She had to focus on the task at hand. That, and she kept that look on Kastiel's face in her mind as she went to work, held onto the promise of revenge the hunter had offered her. It was just enough, she thought.

She nodded towards Braden and Jory. "No worries, guys. I'm going to be there when our hunter wins the Hunt. When she takes that lousy scum Tarro Blood's damn head! I'll be there and I'll speak your names over his dying body, I swear!"


	9. Chapter 8 -- Lizards Make Good Boots

Kastiel stared silently at the Republic scientist that Mako assured her was the target of the damn lizard trying to take her spot in the hunt. She sighed, heavily, as the woman sputtered and mumbled through a series of pitiful pleading for her life.

Why did they always do that, she wondered. Seriously. It's not as if she'd continue getting bounties if she let all her targets loose after she caught up to them. Sheer professionalism demanded she complete the job. It wasn't even personal. Just a series of credits, whatever your life had become worth, small and piddling though it was sometimes. And Kastiel was good enough to refrain from saying how little it usually was, too.

Kas rolled her eyes as the woman's blubbering continued. Gods, she was sick of this planet. She felt as if the stink of the world had sunk into her very pores. She sniffed delicately. Maybe it had. Wouldn't surprise her at all. She'd spent most of the days of the past two weeks crawling through mud, muck, slime, and filthy water slick with chemical residue. She'd even spent some time in the damn sewers underneath the rust yards. Only the Hutts would have full-blown security, complete with guards, down in their sewers, she thought disgustedly, remembering the tenacity of the men and droids who'd fought her as she struggled to reach her target that day.

Ah, poor Yalt, the accountant. The look on his wife's face when she took her his head was pathetic. She wondered if the woman had ultimately thought the cost worth the greed she'd shown in encouraging her husband to betray Nem'ro. It certainly hadn't been worth the sheer effort it took Kastiel to get to Yalt. She still had shit on her boots from those damn sewers, she saw, looking down at them now.

That's when Kastiel heard the heavy step just behind her.

"Geez, lady. Don't you know the meaning of 'stay quiet'? Oh, great." Mako's exclamation was absurd, given the circumstances. Honestly, if the girl was going to be making a habit of following her around, Kas was going to have to teach her how to pay better attention to their surroundings.

In the meantime, she had a lizard to kill and a token to take. Fucking Nem'ro, she thought. Why couldn't anything be easy? Give the slug two damn heads and a pretty show in his little beast playpen, and she still had to hunt down a stupid lizard to get the token that should've been hers. Okay, actually one head since the other went to the accountant's wife. But still!

The trandoshan named Rarsk was gibbering at her in that strange language of theirs, though. Kastiel cocked her head at the unfamiliar tones of the language. It wasn't one of those she was actually familiar with, so that she had to rely on the translator included in her implants. Kas rarely described her incredible aptitude for languages to anyone.

But she picked them up at a frightening rate, all the same, enough her teachers when she was still a child implied that Imperial Intelligence might find her an interesting candidate. Her mother had become frantic, imploring her to hide the skill. Lucian had been delighted, though, had picked her up and held her over his head in the air, laughing up at her. "_Ah, leave off, Tamerie! She just remembers everything, including how the words sound and when and where they're used. It will be fine, so long as she doesn't make it a point of showing off the skill to everyone she meets. And she won't. Right, my little bird?_" Kastiel had giggled as she shook her head back at her father, swearing she'd hide how fast she was picking up the words and sounds of the languages all around her. She'd known her memory was a gift passed along from him, cherished that small sign she was his daughter.

That memory was one of her sweet ones. She liked it.

Rarsk was using a new language, though, not one of the seventeen languages she was fluent in nor even one of the six she could understand well enough to fumble through the use of. That meant Kastiel stood there, silently observing Rarsk as he slithered strange words at her. She wasn't sure the hissing sounds the lizard made would be ones she could duplicate, in fact. Some languages were beyond her physical capability of reproducing.

Wookies, for one. She'd finally given up trying to sound like a Wookie after several failed attempts that had the tall Wookie slave held as a guard in one of the estates in Kaas City holding his sides as he huffed several barking laughs at her. At least she could understand those hairy beasts. The most unusual language Kas could speak was Chevin. A member of that species who spent much of his time lounging in one of the cantinas in the Lower Reaches had laughingly taught her his language. "To pass the time," he'd told her. She'd made it a point to refrain from asking what he was doing on Dromund Kaas. The Chevin were often involved in shady dealings, anyway. Better to not become involved in such business, she'd thought. They were worse than Hutts, anyway.

"Hello, soft things. I see many Fa'thra scientist things are dead. Give me scientist female and you won't join them."

Kastiel stared at him. "I've never killed a … what is he again, Mako? I forgot."

Mako shrugged. "Trandoshan. Rhymes with dead meat."

The lizard rumbled and hissed. "You are stupid. Rarsk will tear out your heart and feed it to a tiny rodent."

"Bah, I'll just keep calling you a lizard, Rarsk. I'll use your hide to make me some new boots. I got shit on these ones when Nem'ro asked me to kill his old accountant. See?" Kastiel lifted up her booted foot. He glanced down at her foot, stupidly, and Kas smiled as she kicked out with that foot, catching the trandoshan in a smooth blow that thudded hard against the lower half of his face. Rarsk collapsed onto his back with a hissing groan of pain, blood spurting from his mouth. She continued explaining as she moved to stand over him, pulling her blaster out to level at his face. "Not that the accountant shit on my boots. I just had to climb through shit to get to him. Regardless, I need some new boots. Thanks for obliging me."

The skinny scientist lady shrieked when Kastiel shot her blaster at the trandoshan. The man's green blood splattered liberally against the floor behind his head as the bolt sizzled its way through his skull. Kastiel rolled her eyes as the scientist continued her shrill cries. "You know, bothering me with your silly whining isn't helpful at this point. You do have a bounty on your head, woman."

Mako smacked the scientist on the back of her head. "Shut up, dammit, before more of Fa'thra's guards come down here to investigate. Here, take this blaster. It's old, hardly worth anything. But you may need it as you sneak out of here. Now, go!"

Kas watched balefully as the small woman scrambled out of the room, clutching that blaster as if it were a shield against any and all bad things that might jump out to bite her. Mako was already rifling through the lizard's pack and pouches, before finally holding up the prized token that showed Nem'ro's mark.

Kastiel finally smiled. It was the first time in weeks her lips had curved so much, Mako thought.


	10. Chapter 9 -- Dishonorable Dogs

Smoke from weapons firing was billowing through the air while the alarms blared in a mad peeling cacophony of sound. Torian coughed as he ducked his head behind the cover of one of the large metal machines that was still hissing and spluttering as metal rods spilled from its interior onto the floor. The clanking noise of the machine's continued working very nearly caused him to fail at hearing Corridan's loud yells from nearby.

Torian snaked his head around to find the alor'ad, saw Corridan standing in front of several crates stacked up in what he could tell was a hastily built series of cover. "Mandoes! Don't fire until you break their stealth! Engage in hand to hand! Knives and blunt weapons only! Now!"

Torian grunted, clinging to his electrostaff with roughly gloved fingers as he glanced around the ravaged factory. There were plenty of dead fighters, their armor marking them as members of the local resistance the Mandalorian squad had been called in to eradicate. Most of their dead bodies still gleamed and crackled with the electric remnants of their damaged stealth generators.

But there were plenty of dead civilians, too. Far too many. He could see a dead woman draped across a nearby conveyor belt, her arm actually stapled to the surface by the machine the belt was spilling from. Her eyes stared sightlessly up towards the ceiling. Black eyes, blood spattered face, slim, cheaply draped body. Torian sighed a disgusted sound against the loss, the incredible dishonor of fighters who used pitiful civilians as cover against a Mandalorian advance.

He watched as Corridan and several warriors took place against their position of cover, shouting to the factory workers to make their way out of the building, to evacuate. The civilians jostled their way past the warriors, who bumped them steadily, checking for fighters that might be hiding among them. But the civilians were getting out.

Torian's gaze was caught by one old man, his bald head sparsely covered by grey fuzz of hair, who was wailing as he leaned against some nearby crates. He could tell the man was being held in place by something heavy, even if the thing couldn't be discerned by the naked eye. Torian grunted, holding tight to his staff as he leaped through the air towards the man, letting his staff fly hard and certain against the form that compelled the old man down against the crate.

Torian's staff impacted with a heavy thud against the stealthed fighter, the blow ricocheting through his arms as he shouted a cry of victory. The old man cried out, terrified and afraid, looking up at the blonde-haired warrior with wide eyes, absolutely certain he was about to die. But Torian was silent as he regarded the bloody remains of the soldier he'd struck so forcefully. Corridan's shouting for evacuation sounded again, and Torian grunted at the old man.

"Better get out of here. That way," he pointed.

The old man regarded him with incredulity then. "You saved me? But … you're Mandalorians! Why would you save us?"

Torian canted his head, confused. "Why are you wasting time? Get out."

"But … okay, okay. Thank you! Thank you so much!" Torian watched the old man scamper away, shaking his head as he went.

Then he turned back around, looking to his left and right at the Mandalorian warriors lining up all along the way. Each of them held up their blades and staffs. Torian could see one warrior holding up a heavy club of some kind, its end rounded into a heavy metallic ball-shape. Shouts came up and down the line as the Mandalorians began moving forward, as Corridan called out. "Destroy the dishonorable dogs, now! Beat them dead! Move!"

Torian felt the blood surging in his veins as the line pressed forward, the warriors moving methodically towards their enemies. He heard the first screams of the resistance fighters echoing through the space, the wild shots from blaster rifles as they tried fighting and failed. Red blood flew in wild arcs through the air, even, as swords flashed and vibroblades sang.

He stepped forward with his brothers. And Eriadu met them.

* * *

Torian scowled as the man raised his fist, waving it in front of the twi'lek whore's blue-skinned face. The fellow shouted at her, "You'll do as I say, bitch! Whatever I want, you hear?" But the woman shook her head.

"You didn't pay enough for that!" She looked around wildly, trying to find the woman who procured for her, probably. But she was alone, left to deal with the miscreant dog manhandling her right now.

Torian glanced at his companions, both of them giving the scene the same dirty look he himself was probably sporting. The three warriors had come to the establishment for some well-earned celebration, the victory at the Eriadu factory still sizzling through their blood. Watching a pitiful prostitute be abused was proving disruptive.

"Damn you!" The beefy fellow shook the woman hard, so that her lekku whipped back and forth as she whined bitterly.

"Hey! Stop it! You'll damage my property, you filthy piece of trash!" A human woman, her greying hair pulled back into a heavy bun, lumbered into the fray, beating against the man's hands on the twi'lek's arms until he finally released the poor blue-skinned woman. "What the hell are you doing that for?"

The man snorted. "I told her I wanted to do her right here, now. And I want her ass. She said no! After I paid her good credits, no less."

"Putting on a show costs more, you dumbass! You plunk down more credits or get the hell out of here!"

"I have more credits. How much will it cost?" Torian heard a small sound of distress come from the twi'lek, who was now cowering behind her human owner, listening as they haggled over the price of her pain and humiliation. Torian stood up and stalked over towards the human woman. She looked at him, surprised.

Torian pointed towards the twi'lek. "I'll pay twice what he's offering."

The woman's pale blue eyes gleamed. "That much will get you the woman's company for the whole night."

The abuser sputtered at first. But then he stopped and shrugged, smiling. "No problem. I don't ship out until the day after. I'll get her after he's done."

Torian glared. "How much for two days, then?"

The woman laughed out loud as she gleefully pocketed Torian's credits. Then she pushed the still-quivering twi'lek towards him and shook her head as the abusive ass continued spluttering. She sauntered off, as Torian eyed his prize, shaking his head. The petty _chakaar_ turned, then, to glare at Torian.

"You shoulda minded your own damn business, you mando trash!" He stepped forward, his black, beady eyes glaring at Torian. But he gulped as he watched Torian's companions join him. Jatne even tossed the hulking human a smirking laugh as he clapped Torian on the shoulder, "Sounds like you'll be busy the next couple of days, Torian."

M'hael fingered the hilt of his blaster as he agreed, glaring at the _chakaar_ until the man backed away, slowly, his hands held out in a defensive posture. "Better get her out of here. We'll let Corridan know what happened. And, Torian?" M'hael shot him a serious stare. "Don't forget we leave by the end of next week. We can't be late for the gathering at the Enclave."

Torian nodded, as he reached out to grip the twi'lek's blue hand before guiding her out of the cantina. What the hell was he supposed to do now, he wondered wildly.

* * *

"So what exactly are you going to do with me now, huh?"

Torian eyed the twi'lek, trying to figure out if the aliens had some preternatural ability to view a man's thoughts. As he eyed the woman's head tails, he considered it likely. Who knew what sort of magic people with brains shaped like that were capable of, anyway. Regardless, it didn't really surprise him to hear her voice exactly what had been moving through his head through much of the last hour as they travelled down the city streets to find this hotel room.

But the woman only laughed, then. "You were wondering the same thing, weren't you?" She looked around the room he'd paid for with a steady, discerning gaze. She moved towards the bed, reached down to prod it with calculation, judging it for softness or comfort, perhaps. He heard her grunt softly, apparently approving. Then she sat down on the edge, looking over at him.

"So, are we going to get on with things, or what?"

He cocked his blonde head, frowning at her. He wasn't certain what "things" she really meant, and this despite the many laughing comments from his fellow warriors over the years. It was times like this he missed his old friend the most. Korwis would have gladly answered the many questions he'd struggled with the past few years. But Korwis was gone, lost in the arena when Torian was thirteen, and he'd long since accepted the man's death.

"Shit, you've never been with a woman, have you?" The twi'lek was astonished. She sat there gaping at him. He scowled at her, clenching his jaw defensively. She held up her blue hands, swearing at him, "Not insulting you, hey! Just surprised, is all. You're … cute. Would've thought plenty of mando women would've taken advantage of you already, okay?"

Torian grunted. "Not hardly. I'm not exactly a prize. And I wouldn't offend a mandalorian woman by offering myself until I was."

She was obviously confused. "You're joking, right? What is it a mando woman would look for that you can't give her?" She ran her eyes up and down his frame with a shrewd, assessing look that made Torian want to squirm.

"Has nothing to do with what I look like. Not sure you'd understand mandalorian honor, either. No offense." Torian shook his head fatalistically. And the woman shrugged, utterly unoffended. Honor was hardly a word she'd be expected by anyone to understand, she thought. So she wasn't bothered by his assumption of her ignorance. "Has more to do with you not being mandalorian. Not that you're forced to sell yourself."

She eyed him, then. The young man was telling her the truth. He truly didn't think less of her for being a whore, she realized. She was suddenly beyond grateful he'd bought her for the time being. Few men in her experience would go out of their way to save her from a spot of pain. Fewer still would've said anything just to soothe her pitiful feelings of self-esteem. Most would've assumed she lacked them entirely, in fact.

This mandalorian was a prize, even if he didn't realize it. How astonishing she could have him. Even if it was only for a little bit of time out of her sorry life. She decide to enjoy him while she could. So she smiled at him, then.

"So. There a mando girl out there you're saving yourself for, then?"

Torian shook his head. "None in particular. I'm past age for marrying. But have things to do first."

"Past age? You're kidding, right? You can't be … what, sixteen years old, right?"

"Eighteen. But mandoes are judged by their deeds, not their years. I was blooded at thirteen, considered adult then. Should've married by the time I was seventeen."

"Wow. You guys rush into things, huh?"

Torian shrugged, looking away from her. He wasn't going to stand there and explain why so few mandalorian women looked twice at him once they learned his clan name was Cadera. That would involve the telling of his entire life story, hardly a brief telling. He wasn't lore master that he could speak that well of such things.

"Bet you have an idea what kind of girl you want, though. Tell me bout her."

Torian looked back at the twi'lek, surprised. "What? Why?"

"I'd like to know what sort of fantasies move around in that cute head of yours, is all. Gives me a chance to get to know what you like." She smiled knowingly at him. He was still confused.

"I don't understand."

She chuckled, then. "Shouldn't be too hard. Come here, sit down and talk to me." She patted the cushion of the bed next to her, ignoring his frown as he glanced around. Then she smirked as he walked cautiously across the room to settle down next to her, placing his pack and staff against the side of the bed. "Now, tell me. When you picture the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, what does she look like? She's human, right? I'd imagine she is. Most humans fantasize about human females."

She watched his face, saw him frown thoughtfully. She almost laughed again. But then his brown eyes went dark with remembering and she smiled instead. "Yes. She was human. Had dark hair, black like a midnight sky with no moonlight. And big brown eyes. Like candy that melts over your fingers."

The twi'lek sighed. "Maybe you'll win her someday, convince her to be with you."

Torian looked away, shaking his head. "She died, I think. Fought so hard, never gave up. By the time we went to get her, she was gone. Wasn't mando'ad, or we might have managed to save her, rather than leave it to the Imps."

"Sorry to hear that. But she was beautiful?"

He nodded, remembering the girl who'd watched him that day, her eyes never leaving him as they moved through the streets of Kaas City. Her face had streamed blood the entire way, even as Korwis pressed a cloth along the wounds. He'd later given the scrap of blood-stained cloth to Torian, telling him it represented tremendous bravery and will in the face of impossible odds. "_Fight like that, Torian, and you'll never lose._"

"Most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Well, then. Let me teach you how to touch and pleasure a girl like that."

He almost fell off the side of the bed where he was perched, but he just looked at the twi'lek. "What?" He frowned at the squeaky sound of his voice, then. The woman laughed softly, although not in any way mean or cruel.

"I just want to show you how you treat someone like that. You know, for the day when you'll have to. I'm assuming eventually you'll do those things that will convince some mando girl you're the prize you really are, huh?"

He nodded, feeling utterly stupid right then.

"So I'm going to show you. Everything I can think of. And maybe a few things I can't think of off the top of my head right now but will over the next two days. Sound like a plan, mando?"

He nodded stupidly again.

"Good." She reached out to run a blue finger smoothly across his lower lip. "Won't hurt my feelings if you imagine I'm that pretty girl in your head, either. Better that way, even. Your hang-ups are nothing on mine, trust me."

He leaned into her finger against the sensitive flesh of his lips, felt his groin twitching into hard awareness. He grunted, "What's your name?"

"I thought we were going to pretend I was someone else?"

He shook his head. "No. Wouldn't do that." He looked away, not able to articulate his desire to keep his memory of that girl from Kaas City precious in his mind without hurting the twi'lek's feelings right then.

But the woman used a blue finger to pull his gaze back around to face her again. "Well okay, then. I'll be me. Your teacher for the next couple of days, okay? Just teaching you, is all. And you can call me Tivva, if you'd like."

Torian shrugged. "Not sure why you're doing this, is all."

She did laugh, then. "Because I like you, believe it or not. It isn't often someone lets me choose. And you have. I want to give something back to you."

Torian looked at her, thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. "All right. What do I do first?"

"Oh, you're really really cute." She grinned as she leaned forward. "Let me show you how to kiss a girl."


	11. Chapter 10 -- Outsiders and Promises

It took Mako quite a while to figure out that Kastiel was from Dromund Kaas. Wasn't like Kas made it a point to mention that little detail, anyway. Nor did her accent mark her as anything close to Imperial. But Mako had already observed Kastiel's ease with language, saw that she didn't wait for the translators to do any work before she was nodding and responding to something said to her. Why would she assume the hunter wasn't able to adopt just about any accent she wanted, after all?

Of course, this begged the question why Kastiel would make it such a serious point to hide her Imperial origins. Mako pondered the issue as Kas argued with the soldier in the doorway of the cantina's lounge. The man's square jaw was hard and severe as he pointed his finger at the bounty hunter, wagging it severely.

Mako shot a glance at the man's fellows, too, and she very nearly laughed. One huge guy and one tiny pipsqueak of a character stood just behind the belligerent soldier arguing with Kastiel. Large, medium, and small, all in a line, she thought to herself. Like ordering a drink at one of the food vendors nearby. She stood there arguing with herself, thinking, "_Don't laugh, Mako. Not the time or place. Just bite your lip and move right along._"

"Bounty hunter! I am Sergeant Wallax of the Imperial Navy. You are hereby commanded to hand over all your weapons and gear immediately."

Kastiel snorted at him. "How bout if I just hand over the ammunition instead?"

"Don't get cute, offworld scum. You're nothing but an outsider here. I can shoot you just as easily as bring you in."

Everyone froze when the sergeant's commlink began chirping. Kastiel grinned as the man became flustered, looking down at the device uncertainly. "Better answer it, sergeant. Your commander is probably wondering what you're up to."

He glared at her. "Shut up!" He clenched his jaw as he yanked his link out. Kastiel chuckled, then, as the sergeant's eyes bugged out when Tarro Blood's image appeared, chanting at the soldier about the task he'd sent him on.

"Damn awkward for you, sergeant." Kas actually waved at the soldiers standing behind the sergeant, then. "How's it feel, being used, your lives put on the line for someone else's gain? Bet he didn't even offer to pay you for your trouble."

Tarro Blood began sputtering. "What? She's still alive? What's wrong with you, sergeant?"

Kastiel shrugged. "Considering your own bumbling of the thing, Blood, I wouldn't be pointing any fingers. No, wait. You're so inept, you have to get others to actually fight in your stead. Sorry, my bad. Carry on, then." The squad of soldiers gaped at her as she settled back onto the balls of her feet, rolling her eyes, her arms clasped across her chest. Mako smiled.

"Dammit, Blood. I told you not to call me on this channel!" The sergeant was still bungling his commlink. Kastiel sighed very dramatically as the two men argued for another few moments, before the soldier finally clicked the link to close it.

"Uh, sergeant. What's going on?" One of the braver soldiers finally piped up from behind Wallax. The sergeant glared at him.

"It's not important. We have a job to do, here."

"If we're going to do this, we want in on it. We deserve a cut!"

"Yea!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes, gesturing towards Mako. The two women settled into loose stances, battle ready. Kas fingered the handles of her blasters tellingly. "You know, it's pretty damn hard to spend credits when you're dead. I'm going to start counting. Anyone still standing here when I get to three is going to be dead."

"Stand your ground, men! She's nothing! We can take her down!"

"One."

"Uh, sergeant. I don't think …"

"Don't think! Just do it!"

"Two."

"Fuck you, sergeant! I'm leaving."

Mako laughed as three of the soldiers broke and ran for the doors. Kastiel smiled darkly at the sergeant and two men who stood with him. Then she spoke, softly. "Three."

Sergeant Wallax yelled out, "You're crazy!"

But Kastiel's first shot was already spinning through the air. The soldier to Wallax's left grunted as the bolts caught him in the face and throat. He fell down with a heavy thud. Mako's shot took the other fellow square in the jaw, and she yelped out a brief shout. "I got him, Kas! Whoop!"

Mako looked then to see Kastiel standing in front of the doomed Sergeant Wallax, the muzzle of her blaster held firmly against the front of the man's forehead. He was gulping, staring at her. He mumbled something that Mako wasn't able to discern. But Kas shook her head, leaning in to whisper something to him. He began shaking but he did manage to pull out his commlink.

They all watched as Tarro Blood's image reappeared. "Is it done?" Wallax shook his head, then froze when his forehead bumped up against the barrel of Kastiel's blaster once again. Tarro turned to regard the dark-haired bounty hunter, glaring at Kastiel through that painted pretty face of his.

"I was able to watch you destroy one of mine. Thought I'd return the favor, Blood."

"You won't win the Hunt! I'll see to it."

"Really? _You_ will? All I've seen so far are a bunch of people you pay to do your killing for you. I'm telling you, Blood. I'm so not impressed."

"This, coming from a piece of trash who's face got chewed on by an akk dog back on Hutta. I've already won my place among the Mandalorians! You can't defeat me!"

Kastiel canted her head, thoughtful for a moment. Then she shrugged. "It's your own face you need to be worried about, Blood. I'm going to make it look like Wallax's by the time this Hunt is over. I promise."

Wallax grumbled. "He can't look like me. We're not even related."

Kastiel smiled at the pitiful fool of a soldier just as she loosed the bolt into his head so that the back of his skull came loose with a strange squishing sound. Mako grimaced as blood streamed down the front of Wallax's face, running over his nose into his gaping mouth. The man's body finally slumped dully to the ground, his commlink tumbling over onto the floor next to him as Tarro Blood glared at the both of them with his fists clenched.

"See you as soon as I can, Blood."

Kastiel turned and moved towards the doors, leaving Blood with one final image of her retreating boots. That, and the sight of Wallax's bloody face lying against the hard surface of the floor. Mako laughed as she followed the hunter.


	12. Chapter 11 -- Daddy's Girl

"My lord, the compound has been compromised by multiple intruders. We can't be certain you are safe. It's possible you could be their target. Or one of them, at least. We're securing Lord Gratham. You should make haste to evacuate."

Vareta Fraabaal could remember the inky darkness that iced the depths of the Tomb of Naga Sadow, how it seemed, almost, to take on a shape and identity all its own, reaching for her. She'd nearly cried as she contemplated descending into its shadows, letting it surround her, suffocate her. And she really did loose several pitiful whimpers. She'd flinched from the echo of those sounds, her own whining reverberating back towards where she stayed, huddled at the top of the stairs.

But she'd never managed to make that last descent, too afraid to move forward even a step. What she had done, rather, was meet her dearest friend just as the girl was climbing wearily back up the stairs, clutching the relic their overseer had asked them to retrieve. Moira had smiled at her, at first. She hadn't understood that, at Korriban, friendship was nothing but a weakness to be eradicated. Especially when there was a prize on the line.

Moira's blue eyes had gone so wide with shock when Vereta flung the force at her in a hard, terrible blow. She'd been so appalled that she hesitated to respond, long enough for Vereta's second blow with her training sword to neatly cave in her pretty skull. Vereta had yanked the relic from her still-warm fingers, eyeing the way the blood pooled against Moira's pale, blonde hair, making it seem nearly as red as Vereta's own.

Vereta smoothed her coifed red hair back into place, now, eyeing the Imperial captain in front of her with a cool, dispassionate gaze. She appeared bored, in fact. It was a very calculated poise. She'd even practiced the stance in front of her mirror after her master had described to her the value of constant and vigilant showmanship. "_Even lesser subjects should be addressed from a position of strength. Even a whisper of weakness can be exploited_," Lord Gratham had intoned.

Strength was valuable, of course. The sort of strength that made you climb down a set of stairs towards the darkness that terrified you, yes. But not nearly as much as the strength that came from the surprise of betrayal. And that was a strength she would not allow her stupid force-blind father to possess. Not ever. The illusion of it, perhaps. But he would find she herself was no Moira to be caught off-guard, nonetheless.

Hire some mercenary, if he wished. Send the bastard after her all he wanted. He'd discover she was the better, stronger of them both. Korriban had honed her and Gratham had pointed her. Now, she was virtually indestructible. No mere bounty hunter would be capable of defeating her. She almost laughed at the mere thought.

Vereta yawned, rather, as she waved the soldier away. "Leave me be, fool. There is nothing for me to fear. Go and secure the doors if you're so concerned." The man gaped at her for only a moment, before he deliberately clapped his jaw closed against his protest, saluted her, and then turned sharply away. She chuckled as he marched off, leaving her alone to ponder the terminal where the reports describing her father's recent transactions with the Mandalorian Enclave were displayed.

What exactly was this melee event the reports were describing, anyway? She cocked her head, thoughtfully. The Mandalorians were actually rather fascinating to her, in the same way one might ponder a deadly predator. The beauty of the beast was enough to compel a person into stopping to look, long enough the creature might actually harm you, anyway. Not that any Mandalorian could actually hurt her, the thought was simply laughable!

But still. It would be simply fascinating to see a real, live Mandalorian today. She wondered if he'd be wearing one of those pretty helmets that covered their faces so often. Would she be able to convince him into removing it? Ah, how thrilling, she thought, feeling the edge of passionate excitement filling her with an almost sexual thrill. She thought there might even be a spot of dampness between her thighs, and she shifted in her seat to ease the blistering heat of her delightful exhilaration.

That's when the first shots began ringing through the space, and Vereta leaped to her feet, facing the doorway with eagerness, gripped in her joyous zeal at the impending confrontation. Would he grab her, kiss her? Surely he'd want her. What sort of mercenary wouldn't delight at being able to rouse and please the excitement of a real Sith, after all?

And then the hunter actually appeared, along with a tiny, olive-skinned girl for a companion, and Vereta's dark red eyebrows shot down into a disappointed frown as sudden anger replaced her stirring excitement. This? This was the incredible threat her father had tossed at her? Not even a real Mandalorian. But some common, ordinary bounty hunter. A rough, ill-mannered course lout of a female! Oh, and a filthy little vagabond to follow along with her, no less!

Argh! The woman was rather small but curvy. Her breasts, in fact, were much rounder and plumper than Vereta's own. Her leathered armor even emphasized her curvaceous figure. Hell, she probably did that on purpose, the slut.

At least her face was dreadful enough. Scars stretched across the right-side of her face, deep and terrible gouges in her skin that were long since healed over. That, and she had implants that reached back to each one of her ears, too. The woman was dreadfully flawed, and Vereta was hugely pleased as she made note of those defects.

She ignored the pretty slant of the hunter's beautiful dark eyes, her thick black hair that gleamed with health and vitality, and, especially, her purely kissable pink lips that puckered very naturally over her softly curved jaw.

That's when she realized the hunter was watching her, too. She stared at Vereta with a shrewd look, seeming to weigh her, almost like she was trying to judge her somehow. It was actually rather disconcerting, in fact. She almost asked the hunter what she was trying to determine with that gauging gaze of hers. Especially when the woman finally shrugged as if Vereta had somehow come up short in her estimation. What failing did this … person seem to find in her? She was Sith! How dare such a lowlife reprobate insult her like that?

"You seem to actually believe you're better than me, somehow? Why is that?" Vereta finally demanded, almost shrilly. She eyed the woman's blasters disdainfully, ignoring the blood splattered along the woman's leg plate armor in some long arc that was still wet enough it was sliding in dripping trails down across her knee as she stood there. It seemed that damned lowly soldier had paid the price for not securing the doors as she'd ordered, she thought snidely.

"Maybe I really am better than you," the hunter said then. She even rolled her eyes! As if emphasizing her belief there was no real "maybe" about it. Vereta snarled.

"How dare you!"

"Pretty damn easily, trust me."

"I am Sith!"

"I am not." The hunter pursed her lips as she shrugged nonchalantly. "Still gonna kill you."

Vereta laughed aloud, then. "Do you seriously believe you're capable of such a feat?"

"What, you think you're invincible, girl?"

"Oh, no. I might be killed by another Sith. Maybe a really powerful bomb. But not some common … bounty hunter," Vereta waved a pointed finger in the woman hunter's face, shaking her head firmly.

The hunter shook her head, almost appearing sad for a brief moment. It caught Vereta by surprise, honestly. "Someone's been filling your head with garbage."

Vereta glared at that insult of her master's instruction. Lord Gratham had demonstrated time and again how strongly he respected her abilities, her tenacity, and her skills. He'd even described his hopes and desires that it be Vereta that found and destroyed the interloper who'd caught and destroyed his son months earlier, the one who'd fled Dromund Kaas in terrible fear of her master's retribution. His tirade against that assassin had been gods-awful, a long-winded diatribe that included several comments how the youth might have made Vereta herself a fine husband, if only he hadn't been killed.

Regardless, she wasn't going to tolerate this slight from such a vulgar upstart of a creature! Not today, not ever! "You'll learn differently. Too bad you won't be able to take much from the lesson. I would say I'm sorry. But I'm really not." Vereta activated her lightsaber, then, the sound of the blade sending a thrill through to her belly and groin, tightening her flesh into adrenalin-heightened readiness. This was the part she enjoyed most, she thought.

Well, maybe not the most. She really would have liked to be swept off her feet by the desires of some manly Mandalorian. But this would do, she supposed.

Vereta sent a whirlwind of force against the hunter's companion, leaving the girl to spin madly against the dynamic power that compelled her small form in hard circles. Even if she managed to break free of the attack, she'd be too dazed to do much harm to Vereta herself, she judged. That left the hunter to deal with. But when Vereta turned to face her, the hunter was gone.

Vereta growled as she scanned the room, looking around wildly, trying to find the woman. That's when the first shot caught Vereta across the shoulder, spinning her around in enough time to see the hunter jumping down from the rafter where she'd been perched after she rocketed up above the space to look down at the Sith. The pain hindered her in responding, long enough for the hunter to smoothly interject herself between Vereta and her small companion, blocking any chance that Vereta might have had to further threaten the girl. That's when the hunter's second blaster fired - fast on the heels of her first, actually - catching Vereta's hand where she still clasped her lightsaber, sending blood scattering into the air even as her saber fell with a loud clatter against the floor. The Sith screamed piercingly in shocked pain.

Vereta fell down to a knee, clutching her arm close to her chest as she whimpered from the miserable discomfort of her wounds. It seemed her entire left side was on fire, burning with searing agony. Vereta glanced down to see several large droplets of blood plopping dully onto the floor at her feet. But then she looked back up at the hunter, her eyes wide with shocked dismay as she mumbled, "I lost? How …? It's simply not possible!" It all happened so fast, she thought, shocked.

The hunter shook her dark head at Vereta, as she raised her blaster and placed it against Vereta's forehead. The Sith whimpered, watching the hunter's eyes, seeing the darkness there, the claws of it reaching out to her the same way the shadows in Naga Sadow's tomb had reached for her. She saw death stretching out towards her.

Then the hunter whispered. "Shhh. I'll make this quick. It won't even hurt."

"I just can't believe it …"

And then the darkness claimed her at last.

* * *

Mako's head was still spinning. She grimaced as she shook her head yet again, trying to shake loose the dizziness that continued to bother her every so often. She looked over at Kastiel, about to say something giddy and thankful, something like "thanks" or "damn, girl, you're awesome" or "you saved my pitiful life, yay".

But Kastiel was standing against the framework of the swampy landscape, refusing to lean against any of the trees, although she looked purely weary standing there. She'd warned Mako earlier about the seeming insects that infested so much of the plant life on Dromund Kaas, enough, she'd said, that bug-like things could end up covering your body in mere moments after touching something green or tree-like. Yuck, Mako thought again.

At the moment, though, Kastiel just looked sad. Mako sort of doubted any expression of gratefulness would work to wash Kas' face clean of that dejected air. So she ambled over to stand next to her, silent for a time. She scanned the marsh, watching how the gloom shifted and pulled against the shadows of the dull, blunt light of the planet. Shapes moved through the dark every so often, and Mako squinted, trying to make them out but failing.

"Most of the life on the planet is Sith-spawned. Twisted obscenities. Good for pitting your skills against, is all." Kastiel spoke quietly, working to avoid getting attention from any of the forms moving through the swamp nearby.

Mako glanced at her. "Take it you've fought them."

"Time or two, yea." Kastiel looked over at Mako, her eyes hooded, quiet. "You know I met Braden in Kaas City, right?" Mako shook her head. And Kastiel looked away again, shrugging. "Guess I should have known that old man would keep his word about my origins. He was a good friend. I miss him."

"Yea, me too." Mako's sigh was loud.

Kastiel was quiet for a moment, pondering. "Sometimes I wonder. I mean. About the Sith. Are they all like that girl just now was? What made her like that? What does it take, to turn a girl who's father obviously loved her into a pitiful wreck good only for destruction?"

Mako thought. "Maybe she was always that way."

"No, I don't think so. I think she was a cute little girl once upon a time. I bet that admiral played games with her, twirled her in the air, gave her sweet pet names."

_Who gave you sweet pet names_, Mako wondered suddenly. But she didn't voice the thought. "Well, then. Maybe she just didn't learn from the right teachers."

"Exactly, Mako! What if all the Sith are taught to be like that? What if …?" But Kastiel finally wound down into morose silence.

Mako watched her shake her head sadly. Then she reached out a small hand, placed it on the hunter's armored shoulder. "I bet that every so often there's a Sith who manages to overcome all the bullshit to be a truly remarkable person. And we'll just avoid the ones who can't."

Kastiel chuckled. "Simple rules are often the best ones, huh? Whatever. Let's get moving. Have to let daddy know his girl's gone."

* * *

**This quest always tossed me into thinking about the nature of Sith society as a whole, of course. It just struck me hard, that the Admiral obviously loved his daughter but was forced to order her destroyed in order to save the rest of his family. That, and how the girl herself was just so lost in complete myopic belief of her own invincibility. The whole thing seemed sad.**

**For those who're wondering, by the way. Yes, Kastiel knows about Lusiel and Khyriel. At this point in the story, though, neither of them is aware of her. That, and she's never actually met them or communicated with them, at all. Which doesn't mean she hasn't seen them from a distance, either, lol. **


	13. Chapter 12 -- To Save Someone I love

The doctor smoothed a finger across the implant over Mako's left eye, grunting softly. "Excellent work. Delicate, fragile … it's almost like a piece of art." He leaned closer, his gaze focused on the metal edgework of the implant. "Droid-manufactured, of course. Although the actual implementation of the device required intricate and incredible effort. I would love to discuss this work with the doctor who made it."

Mako harrumphed. "Finding out who did this is why I came to you, actually. Kas said you knew more about implants than just about any medical professional on Dromund Kaas."

"That would be about right. Spent years practicing on her, in fact. " He smiled at Mako, then.

"You … huh? You're the doctor who worked her implants?"

He shrugged, then wagged a finger in Mako's face. "Better to not say much about Kastiel outside of here. Do you understand me?"

Mako nodded, solemnly. She watched as the doctor moved over to a nearby terminal, began pressing various buttons on the console. He let out a hum of noise every so often. "So. You sound like an Imperial. Like one of those guys who wear the uniforms and yell at us every time Kas opens her mouth to say something to them." She heard the doctor chuckle.

"Yes, well, that's what comes of hiding her own Imperial origins out of sight, hmm?" He looked over, eyeing Mako shrewdly.

"Are you her father, or what?"

The doctor frowned, then. His eyes darkened with something like grief, or more a memory of grief. And Mako realized the truth. Not her father at all. But he'd known Kas' father, all the same. He shook his head, then. "No. I'm not Kastiel's father. You can call me Tobie. And I sound Imperial, because I was Imperial. A doctor in the Navy for some years." He shrugged. "I like it better down here."

Mako laughed lightly. This area of Kaas City was populated largely by the Empire's workers and slaves, most of whom ducked and weaved as they meandered the rain-saturated streets outside as if trying to avoid garnering anyone's attention. It was hardly the nicest slum Mako had ever seen, and she'd seen some pretty nasty slums a time or two. Said a lot about the Navy that one of its doctors appreciated this place better, she thought.

"Was Kas' father an Imperial?"

Tobie pursed his lips only slightly, enough Mako could see the question bothered him. But he just shook his head. "Kas' father died a long time ago." She watched as he returned his attention to the computer terminal.

Mako glanced around at the clinic. The place was actually appealing, once you were inside. The outside of the building was just as dark and morose looking as the rest of the structures in Kaas City. Mako supposed there was some sort of rule about that, that somehow all the city had take on the appearance of black animosity, as if the city was entirely composed of controlled figures acting as one, like a terrible machine designed for destruction. It was incredibly depressing.

The clinic, at least, had had a meager light on the wall outside its entrance. She supposed that was the only beacon that identified the place for what it was. She had jostled her way through the group milling at the door as she'd entered the place and asked one of the droids, there, for Tobies Moor. He'd ducked his head outside a nearby examining room, then, and directed her into the space.

Tobies Moor was human, of course. He had a good, healthy build, solid without being bulky at least. Mako guessed he was in his fifties, as she regarded the greying hair at his temples and the wrinkles around his eyes. Otherwise, his hair was a sandy-brown color and his eyes were blue.

Now that she looked at him, he really didn't look at all like Kastiel. Her features were striking, beautiful – even with the implants and scars – although Mako had long since realized Kas herself didn't recognize her own attractiveness. She had a natural appeal, one that came from her smooth motion with those soft curves, the darkness of her eyes that soothed, and the implicit temptation of her pouty mouth. But she rarely noticed the male attention she garnered, unless it was accompanied by some sort of caustic remark regarding the marks on her face.

"How did you meet Kastiel, Mako?"

Tobie's question broke Mako free of her meandering thoughts in regards her growing friendship with the hunter. She looked over at the doctor, who hadn't really looked up from his work at the console, even as he addressed her. Mako crossed her arms across her small chest, her eyes growing sad. "Braden introduced us. He was excited to introduce Kastiel into the Great Hunt."

Tobie shot Mako an amused glance. "Kas has spent years eyeing the Mandalorians. She'd watch them come and go from the Enclave, listen to their conversations. She once came home with a vicious wound she received from a small vine cat she tangled with outside the city, after she'd followed a group of Mando hunters too far into the marsh." He chuckled. "So how's Braden doing?"

Mako sighed. "He was murdered."

Tobie was startled. "What?"

"Some bastard called Tarro Blood had him shot. I was afraid Kas would leave me there on Hutta, then. But she didn't."

"She wouldn't have," Tobie said, thoughtful. Then he gestured towards her implant. "I'd like to take a closer look at that. I'll sedate you while I examine it. Would that be acceptable?"

Mako nodded as she lay back against the cushioned surface of the medical table. She drifted into a murky grayness, barely aware. Eventually she heard voices nearby, although she was incoherent enough she couldn't remember who the voices belonged to. She only continued to drift, mindless wondering.

A man spoke. Was he talking to her? "I'm sorry about the bounty hunter."

No, a female responded. "I wasn't able to save him. They snuck in while I was gone."

"Dammit, Kastiel. You can't possibly blame yourself."

"If you say so."

"This is about your parents, isn't it? Kas, you were six years old! There was no way you could have changed anything that happened to them. But gods know you tried. You bear the marks to prove it!"

"Tobie, please."

"You have to know this misplaced guilt is only going to drag you down, weaken you. You have to let it go!"

"Maybe when I finally manage to save someone I love, huh? Because so far, the people I care about? I lose them! What happens when they finally realize I never died the day my parents did, do you think?" The female loosed a tired, sniffling sigh. "They'll come looking for you, won't they? Then I'd lose you, too! Another one – gone! Hell, Tobie! I almost didn't tell Mako about you, even when she asked for help to discover her implant's origins."

"Dammit, girl. Even if I died tomorrow, it wouldn't be you to blame for it, don't you see?"

"Yea, right. Even though they'd kill you because of me."

"Kas …"

"No. Enough. Just … take care of Mako. Okay?"

The man – Tobie, the doctor was called Tobie – he sighed, then. "Upstairs, Kas. Try to get some rest while I finish, here. And for goodness sake, take a bath. I think that's shit on your boots."

And Mako drifted back into the grayness.


	14. Chapter 13 -- Out of the Temple

Kastiel was deaf. She had spent almost six months of her sixth year trapped in the dreadful silence that came after the little lights on the grenade changed from red to green. It's why she was still able to gauge the facial movements of those beings she spoke with such unerring skill, to find the meaning behind their communication with her - to read lips, basically – even after Tobie's numerous surgeries. Kas could discern a lie from a mere twitch of a person's mouth, shift of his eye, or flaring of his nostrils, even.

But silence no longer handicapped her, either. Her first implants had utterly blasted any chance for silence from Kastiel's experience. Her hearing involved such a cacophony of sound, that her first months after surgery were tearful cries for the noise to stop, permeated with tremendous headaches that came of hearing every little sound within a far from normal radius for those with more normal human hearing.

Tobie had been frantic as he tried teaching Kastiel how to focus her new hearing ability, to shut out the sounds she didn't need and concentrate on those she did. It was a grueling process, for the both of them. There were many nights when Tobie would finally just pull Kastiel into his arms, rocking her against him as she cried, holding his hands over her ear implants, until she finally hiccupped her way into sleep, utterly weary from the effort she was expending just to _stop_ hearing. And he still made it a point to provide her meds for the migraines that still bedeviled her.

As she stood there, now, looking up at the incredible façade of the Dark Temple beyond the limits of Kaas City, Kastiel once again thought how much like her hearing force awareness really was. She imagined force users drew upon a level of sensory information, responded to it, in order to produce what seemed to be utterly magical results. All it took, she thought, was being able to "see" or "hear" the energy that the Force was, in order to effect it, to manipulate it.

Kastiel had never felt any real bother that her own sense of the Force was so limited, and never mind the drive of so many around her to become a Sith, to move out from the dregs of obscurity or poverty to become someone of value and importance, the rulers of their world. Perhaps it was her struggles to recapture her lost hearing. More likely it was hearing Tobie tell her that her sister was taken far away to a place called Korriban, where she'd be made to fight for her life in dreadful trials, all because of her force ability.

But Kastiel always respected the Force for what it was, the driving energy of her world and galaxy, that surrounded everything. She knew it was real enough, even if she couldn't tap into it herself. Not as a Sith did, at least. But her awareness of the Force was real enough. Enough that she nearly gagged on the feeling of dark, terrible threat that permeated the Temple as they stepped inside.

Mako suddenly pressed in close against her, whimpered, "Kas? My implant is buzzing, like some kind of interference. It hurts. You … hey, promise me you won't leave me here, okay?"

Kastiel turned to the young woman, held her shoulder. "This place is ugly as hell. I wouldn't leave an akk dog here, Mako. I certainly won't leave you! Let's just find these soldiers someone was cruel enough to send in here." She glanced around at the shadowed alcoves. "Chances are they're long since dead."

But they weren't. They were lost, rather, to the dark energies of the place. They stumbled through the corridors of the Temple, ranting against the pain in their skulls, even falling down to their knees crying out in agony. Some of them, catching sight of her, begged for release from the pain and sobbed gratefully as she lifted her blasters to give it to them. Most of them, though, were so maddened they no longer remembered who they were. Those were the soldiers who came at her in wild attacks, determined to destroy her, forcing her to fight incredibly for their lives.

It was horrifying, all of it. When Kastiel finally rose up with the identification tag from the very last of the soldiers gripped in her gloved hand, she caught sight of Mako, leaning over against the nearby wall, vomiting smoothly against the floor. She grimaced, gulping against her own nausea. She reached out towards Mako, watched as her companion gripped her fingers fervently.

They held onto each other as they tumbled out of the Temple, gasping gladly in the muggy air of the outside. But they still gripped each other's fingers as they nearly ran away from that place. And they didn't look back.

* * *

The identification tags gleamed as they tumbled out of the bag Kastiel had gathered them in, there on the surface of Captain Medle's desk. The officer reached down, picking up one of the tags to examine it closely. "You got them all, fantastic. Here's Commander Gargun's ID, even." The man looked up at Kastiel, then, his face ravaged by what looked to be a severe burn injury years earlier. "So what was it like, there in the Temple? I've yet to hear anything about that place that didn't sound like pure raving."

Kastiel shrugged. "Not going to hear much different from me. That entire place is full of madmen. They even seem organized somehow. Well … kinda."

"Huh. Still would've liked to go in there myself. Would've saved me some unpleasantness." Kastiel watched as the captain dropped his eyes suddenly, seemingly shamed. She felt her stomach tighten with anxiety, glanced over at Mako. "Listen to me. Unpleasantness. I'm even starting to talk like a spy."

The captain walked out from behind his desk, subtly nodding towards the two armed men standing along the wall nearby. Kastiel motioned towards Mako, who shifted closer, standing loosely and ready. "Look, hunter. I may not like being an officer in Intelligence. Never wanted the job, mind you. But it is what it is, see. And the Sith made it clear they didn't want anyone going into that Temple, learning their secrets."

Kastiel scowled. "You're making me unhappy, captain. You don't want to. Trust me."

"Yea, you're right. I don't want to. In a better world, I wouldn't have to kill someone just for doing their job. And doing it well, to boot. But this isn't a better world. I'm sorry, I really am." He started to turn, to say something to his men.

But Kastiel was already moving. She rocketed towards the men still leaning stupidly against the wall, obviously waiting for guidance from the captain. They coughed as the gas residue from her jetpack filled the small office. One time. Then they blinked, feeling the pressure of Kastiel's blasters, one under the chin of each man, held there in Kas' firm grip as she sneered darkly at them. Behind her, the captain yelped when Mako loosed a bolt from her pistol at him, caught him squarely in the thigh so that he tumbled down to the floor, clutching his leg as blood pumped thickly from the hole in it.

Kastiel maneuvered her two hostages backwards, until all three men were gathered together in the center of the room, facing two very angry young women. Captain Medle sighed, holding his hand over his bleeding wound while blood spilled through his fingers. Mako gathered the men's weapons, tossing them into a corner, muttering words like "backstabbing" and "sons of bitches" every so often. The captain's erstwhile assassins looked down at the floor, red-faced, embarrassed.

Medle stared at the bounty hunter, looked at her eyes, watched her. He thought suddenly he'd never seen a more beautiful creature in his life, this woman who was surely going to kill him now. And he was grateful it would happen at the hands of someone so damn capable. This one, he thought, wouldn't bungle the job. She'd do it right. It would be quick, relatively painless. Not a bad way to go. And that's why he told her so.

"I'm not going to beg. Turning on someone for doing their job is wrong and we both know it. Here's your writ, that tells the Mandalorians you did your job for us. And your pay. Because you did it well, too. The rest is up to you." He lowered his head, waiting.

Kastiel snorted, so that the captain looked back up at her. She tucked her blaster against his dark-skinned nose, bumped it firmly. "Bribe me, captain. And you'd better make it good."

Medle heard a sound of some surprise coming from the hunter's small-framed companion. But he scrambled to think, listening to the whimpers coming from his men on either side of him. "Now that, I can do." He gestured towards a datapad set in the center of his desk. "That there's a list of experimental equipment. You can … have something off it, if you want."

Kastiel shook her head. "No. You're going to owe me a favor, rather. Mako, here, is going to contact you with a series of questions regarding some information she's looking for. And you are going to help her get it. Understood?" The captain nodded. "Don't screw this up, captain. I will make your life an even greater living hell if you fuck with me."

"I get it. Don't worry." He scowled as he watched the hunter backing towards the door, saw the one called Mako open the door so that the hunter could duck outside of the room, pulling Mako with her. Then he snarled at the two men next to him. "Son of a bitch. I survived. I hate you both!"

* * *

Khyriel Phyre glanced up, over Watcher 2's shoulder, just in time to see a bounty hunter, of all things, stalking out from a corridor that lead back to several offices. The woman was obviously angry, almost quivering with it. Her dark eyes were glittering as she muttered something to the small woman following her. That, and she was replacing a pair of blasters against her belt.

He scanned down the corridor where she'd come from, wondering who was lying dead back there. He chuckled at the thought of some sorry-assed agent coming up against a mere bounty hunter, and failing. He considered investigating whatever incident had created that tempestuous expression on the pretty bounty hunter's face but ultimately decided it wasn't worth losing out on some good flirtation with Watcher 2. His upcoming mission would occupy far too much of his time, anyway. Best to work at getting Watcher 2 into his bed while he still could.

He was still smiling, though, when the hunter looked up and saw him there. The expression on her face caught him by surprise. Shock, dismay – but more than anything, recognition – then sadness and regret. Khyriel scowled. Who was she, he wondered, that she'd recognize him even for a moment. He made to confront her, but the bounty hunter tossed her head, then. She grabbed her companion's arm, hard enough to startle the young woman, who loosed a brief yelping cry, "Hey!" Then she began striding towards the main entrance, practically dragging her small companion behind her. He watched them go, frowning.

"What is it, Khy? What's the matter?" Watcher 2 was looking at him, obviously concerned.

"I'm not sure. But I'll find out."


	15. Chapter 14 -- The Melee

Corridan Ordo laughed in sheer unadulterated delight as he yanked his helmet off, so that the moisture clinging to the back of his head worked to highlight the dark edges of his hair. He reached out to clasp the arm of the warrior he'd been sparring with, shouting out, "_Jate akaanir_!"

Vorten Fett yanked his own armored helmet loose from his bald head, shaking his head free of sweat. He grinned back at Corridan as they grasped each other's arms. "Yes, it was a good fight, Corridan. And fun, too." Fett smiled as the two captains were suddenly thronged by their respective warriors. Yells and shouts of advice soon rang out, as the two groups began arguing the various techniques their respective _alor'ads_ had used during the match.

The din of noise they made as they playfully pushed and gestured amongst each other added to the overall pandemonium filling the Enclave. Fighters and warriors from throughout the multitude of clans filled the space, everyone there eager to witness the start of the Great Hunt. Corridan waved towards Torian, gesturing him close.

"Vorten, this is Torian Cadera. One of my finest fighters. And my friend." Corridan slapped his fist against Torian's shoulder, hard enough that Torian stumbled.

Torian rolled his eyes as he shoved back at Corridan. "Not going to impress anyone with my balance when you do that, _ner vod_." But Corridan just laughed, tossing an arm across Torian's shoulders, before smiling over towards Vorten once again.

Vorten nodded. He focused his cybernetic gaze on the blonde-haired Mando, blatantly sizing him up through the metallic implants covering his eye. "Cadera. Jicoln's son?"

Torian's jaw clenched. His shoulders grew tense under Corridan's arm. But he didn't turn away. Nor did he drop his head in any sort of shame. "I'm Aily Cadera's son. I never knew my father."

Vorten Fett grunted, then. "Jicoln should have considered that sort of consequence when he chose to act with such dishonor. You'd have been a son worthy of pride to any man, I can see." Then he eyed Corridan balefully. "I'll win our next match, you damn _hodar_. And stay away from my clan's women. They deserve better than your smooth words and boastful self."

"No boasts, Vorten! It's all true!" Corridan crowed, while the warriors gathered around him cheered. They pumped their fists into the air in a mad cacophony of riotous excitement.

Vorten smiled. "Remember what I asked, Corridan. _Ret'!_" Torian frowned as the older warrior moved away, his soldiers nodding as they turned to follow him. He glanced at Corridan.

"What was he seeking, Corridan?"

"Fighters. His squad has some work in the days ahead and he's looking for additional fighters to join his ranks. I want you to be one of them."

Torian pursed his lips as he considered. "What sort of jobs?"

"Jobs closer to the Enclave. Closer to the Mandalore, too. Jobs that get you noticed, seen, earns honor." Corridan looked at Torian with a serious expression on his face. "It will mean winning your place all over again, of course. Not that you'd be losing the one you won with us, either. You know I consider you _vod_, Torian."

Torian grinned at him. "You only like the way the women follow me around. Gives you some small chance to win their attentions."

Corridan laughed. "Hah! You go off for two days with a twi'lek and think you can compete with the best. I'll show you how to impress the ladies, Torian! Not that it's hard to do here on Dromund Kaas. Imperial women tend to think Mandalorians are like some kind of exotic prize, anyway." Then Corridan spun around, catching sight of a singularly shapely figure trying to skirt around the group. "Speaking of ladies!"

Torian chuckled when the red headed woman with a voluptuous form encased in heavy green leathers pointed a finger towards Corridan. "Don't you dare bother with me, you goat of a Mando!"

"Seems she has you well placed, Corridan." Torian bent over, holding his sides as he laughed. Around him, the Mandalorians burst out into raucous peels of loud laughter themselves, especially when Corridan rushed over to the short curvaceous woman to pick her up and swing her around.

"How dare you question my appeal, Crysta! You'll have to make it up to me! Swear it!" But Chrysta only squealed, slapping at Corridan's chest and shoulders as she quickly grew dizzy. Corridan lowered his head, pressed his lips against Crysta's cheek where he proceeded to blow wild raspberries against her skin. Crysta shrieked shrilly, swinging her fist into the side of Corridan's head so hard he nearly dropped her. He lowered her to the ground, instead, and then he clutched his head dramatically. "Wounded! You've wounded me, woman! Argh!"

The warriors broke into new rounds of hilarity, all of them calling out to Crysta to forgive the Mando and soothe his "wounds". She bit her lip, trying not to laugh, even as she waved her hands in the air. "Leave off, all of you, geesh! You're not impressing me, I'm telling you!"

Corridan eyed her through the spaces between his fingers, which he still held over his face, looking curious. "What could we do that would work to impress you, then? Please tell us! We will surely overcome any challenge you put before us, prove what incredible warriors we really are! Won't we, _Mando'ad_?" He smiled when the troop of warriors around them cheered, pumping their fists into the air. They yelled at her to challenge them.

Crysta shook her head, muttering about who was madder – Mandoes. Or herself, for surrounding herself with Mandoes. Finally, she laughed, crooking a finger towards Corridan, who duly leaned forward to hear her whisper her challenge in his ear. He laughed, then. "I can do that, of course! Come! We go to the melee!" Corridan leaned over, thrusting his shoulder into Crysta's stomach, lifting her up and over his shoulder, where Crysta hung laughing like a mad bird, as the Mandalorians proceeded into the arena where the hunters were gathering.

Torian stepped close to Corridan as they took their places against the Clan Ordo section of the arena hall. Crysta shook her head as she settled next to Corridan, trying to stop her head from spinning. She leaned over, peering down towards the arena floor, where the assistant huntmaster Lek was addressing the hunters.

Torian watched as Corridan patted Crysta's rump firmly. She slapped at his hand, snarling about taking it the next time he made such an affront, but Corridan playfully surrendered, holding his hands up in the air and laughing. "It was just too tempting a sight, I swear." Then Corridan looked down at the hunters, too. He grunted. "Sorry looking group."

"That's cause you ain't seen my girl yet." Crysta elbowed Corridan in the side, pointing as a female figure moved into view. "There she is! Coming into the arena now! Purty thing, even if she don't put on no airs. And overcome everything tossed her way to get here today. I'm telling you, Cor. That there is the hunter to beat this time around. She's going to take the title of Champion by the time it's finished. You watch!"

Torian craned his head to catch sight of the newcomer. Her armor was worn tight against her frame, fitted well, the leathers stained with blues and browns. The curves of her ass and breasts were sweet-looking, tempting – a perfect female frame that her armor only highlighted, not hid away.

She had no helmet obscuring her face, although Torian couldn't exactly make out her features from where he was standing. But her hair was black, cropped close against the nape of her neck and framing her face, and her skin was pale and creamy-looking. He could see the glinting of implants lining her eyes, as well.

Corridan asked, "Implants to boost her skills, Crysta?"

"If you count hearing as a skill. Girl's deaf without 'em. Wounded when she was still little, from what I can gather. Leastwise, the scars look old. Lek was impressed by her."

"Really? Takes a lot to impress that old man."

Crysta shook her head. "She talks, and you're impressed, I am not even joking. But she's got talent to back it up, too. Never seen the like."

Torian grunted thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off the woman as she stepped into the arena. Lek turned to bark something at her, but she only shrugged back at him, unconcernedly. "Thought you were good friends with Jewl'a, Crysta. Do you think this hunter is better?"

Crysta was quiet for a long moment. Long enough both Corridan and Torian finally looked over at her, catching her regarding the hunter below with extraordinary consideration. Finally, she looked back at them. She nodded. "Yep. She's better. But if you ever tell Jewl'a I said so, I'll cut off yer balls. You hear me?"

Corridan made soothing noises, grinning as he leaned over as if to blow more raspberries against her skin. But Crysta laughed, waving him away as she went back to watching the match.

Torian had already gone back to ignoring them both. He was fascinated with the hunter, watching her move as she settled into a ready stance there on the arena floor. She carried two blasters, holding them both in steady hands as she looked around and measured each one of her opponents. There was a female Mirialan hunter, thin and petite, a couple of humans, both male, a Trandoshan with rather yellow-looking scaly skin – even a Gamorrean, with his pig-like features bulging out of dark armor.

He grunted when she subtly turned towards the Mirialan, correctly surmising the greatest threat came from the slight-looking female. The others would fight amongst themselves, anyway, disregarding the females until the end. By then, the superior skills of one or the other female would quickly dispatch whoever had managed to survive. That the hunter was responding capably to the shape the battle would take, even before it commenced, demonstrated real skill that put her above the rest of her brawny rivals.

"Did Lek say he thought the hunter was dead?" Corridan asked Crysta. Torian glanced over at Crysta, saw her nodding.

"That's what we were told earlier. Ask me, and it's more like someone was trying to _make sure_ she was dead before the melee."

Torian scowled. "Cheating?"

"Oh yea. Although all within the bounds of the rules, so far. Gratta reported that my girl's team was slaughtered back on Hutta, for one. Only a little slip of a girl survived to help her along the way. All her marks here on Dromund Kaas were made to be the hardest, most difficult ones, too." Crysta snorted. "Her employer in Intelligence tried to have her killed after she did her work for him, even!"

Torian looked back at the woman, his head canted as he watched her. "And she didn't give up. Brave." His tone was thick with admiration. Then he frowned again. "You said she was wounded when she was little. How?"

"Dunno. Not exactly a question you ask a person. You know, like, 'Hey, how did you lose your eye? Come on, you can tell me!' I'm just assuming, is all."

Corridan leaned his shoulder against Torian's side, rolling his eyes. "Have you fallen in love, Torian? Maybe we can make introductions after she wins the melee, huh? Crysta's her handler, anyway. She can probably make it happen."

"Oh, no you don't! You leave the woman be! She's got a job to do, a Hunt to win!"

"Would you stand in the way of true love, Crysta?"

"True love, my ass. If it's true, it will last long after she has the title of Grand Champion. Now leave me be!"

"But he'll have more competition after she has the title, too. Hey, now that I think about it …" Corridan leaned forward, looking at the woman hunter with an appraising regard, eyeing the curves her armor emphasized and whistling softly.

Crysta bumped him. "You leave her alone, too, dammit! I swear, I'm going to have that hunter off this damn planet hours after this melee is finished. I mean it! I need to keep all of you Mandoes away from her!"

Corridan clucked at her in mocking dismay, just as the first shots of the melee resounded. Torian shot forward, leaning over the edge of the spectator section to better see the hunters going at it, his fingers gripping the half-wall firmly.

As he'd supposed, his hunter had dodged the first shots from the Mirialan. She suddenly leaped towards the green-skinned female, bashing against the side of her head with one of her blasters before firing at her with the other. The Mirialan leaned left in just enough time to avoid losing her head to the bolt. But she forgot the hunter's other blaster. The hunter was loosing a second bolt directly on the heels of her first, a quick staccato shot that caught the Mirialan squarely in the chest and blasted her back and off the edge of the arena floor. Wild cheers broke from the crowd as the female tumbled into a bleeding heap against the hard tiles of the floor below the arena.

The hunter swung around then, jetting above the arena to fire an incredible burst of shots towards the last two men still fighting on the other side of the arena. The Gamorrean's loud snorting squeals of pain rang out as his huge body absorbed the shots coming from the woman's blasters. The human he was fighting wisely leaped behind him during the firestorm from overhead, hunkering down in the terrible shelter the Gamorrean had suddenly become. He was ready by the time the Gamorrean dropped dead into the sand and the hunter fell back towards the arena. He fired just as her boots touched the sandy floor of the fighting surface.

The hunter smoothly jumped out of the way, rolling to her side before coming up to a knee and holding up both of her blasters, her arms crossed over each other to better support her weapons as she proceeded to fire. She unloaded her blasters in a steady stream of shots towards the man she was fighting, the resounding noise of the attack filling the air even above the wild cheers that erupted from the crowd.

Torian leapt to his feet, yelling loudly in celebration as the hunter stood up straight over her very dead rivals. She turned to face the crowd, her dark hair dripping with sweat and sand. The Mandalorians called out wild cries, "_Oya_! _Oya_!" She regarded them all for a moment, breathing hard, an obvious rush of adrenalin thrilling through her. The scene was incredible, the excitement palpable, and Torian watched as a glad, proud smile finally etched its way across her face. He shouted when he saw her raise a fist into the air, declaring herself victor and cheering back at them. She nodded firmly then, before she moved off the arena floor, following after Lek, who was waving towards her.

Torian looked over at Crysta. "Are you certain you couldn't introduce me to her?"

Crysta shook her head. "Dammit, no! You see the way Lek dragged her out of here? She has work to do." She grasped his arm. "I mean it, Torian. You're not the only Mando here tonight who decided she was worth a look-see. There can't be any hint of collusion from the clans for any sponsored hunter. She has to prove herself."

Corridan smiled. "That's a hunter worth watching, Torian. Crysta's right. The Hunt is serious business."

Torian glanced at the door where the Hunter had disappeared. "I just … No, you're right." He sighed, shaking his head. There was something about the woman – something that demanded he get closer, see her. He wanted to know _who_ she was. Because his head was spinning.

It can't be her. Can't be. Impossible. The doctors told them she was dead. But … He shook his head again as he turned away, followed Corridan. But he massaged his arm, too, felt the rustle of the blood-stained fabric wrapped around his forearm under his gauntlet. _Can't be_, he thought.


	16. Chapter 15 -- I Don't Hate Him Anymore

"All right, you disgusting pile of puke! Drop your weapon and kiss the floor!"

Kastiel ignored the pompous Imperial officer who was standing in the doorway of the hangar, waving his hands imperiously and ranting at her, glancing past him, instead, at the boxy-looking, ugly starship parked inside. Mako made a noise, a small grunt of some disgust. Kastiel almost smiled. Ugly or not, that was her ship now and the increasingly agitated officer facing her wasn't going to change that.

"This is one starship that's not getting stolen on my watch! Do you hear me, scum?" He wiggled his little mustache at her every time he spoke. Kastiel considered telling him how ridiculous he looked as he talked but men rarely responded well to insults about their facial hair. Not that Kas thought for a moment he'd respond well to any of the insults she was about to give him.

But mentioning his furry lip made this business a little too personal for no reason. The Mandalorians had tasked her to steal a ship. Steal it, she would.

Kastiel pointed down at her hip. "Sorry. Could you repeat all that into this barrel?"

The two soldiers behind the officer tensed, pressing closer to their commander and clutching their weapons.

The Neimoidian smuggler who had probably owned that bucket-of-bolts ship in the hangar until Kastiel walked in to claim it stood off to the side, rubbing his rather large forehead anxiously. She almost snorted at him. His colorful coat was marked with greasy food stains and his pants were so filthy she couldn't tell if they were supposed to be grey or brown.

Dammit, she thought. She knew she was going to be purely busy for days just cleaning her new ship. She mentally calculated how much bleach she would need to wash the thing down with, just as the officer huffed at her. "You filthy little offworld virus! I've had three ships stolen this year by the Mandalorians and their unwashed cohorts!"

"Actually, I make it a point to bathe. Not sure about your … compatriots, there." Kastiel nodded towards the Neimoidian.

The officer twitched angrily, but the smuggler began whining. His skin was turning pink with nausea, Kastiel saw. That, and his chest was heaving as his lungs expanded under the stress of the confrontation. Why would a Neimoidian, a people prone to such incredible anxiety, have chosen such a profession as smuggler, anyway? Not just dirty. The fellow was an idiot. "Why are you people talking? You caught her red handed! Now kill, kill, kill!"

Kastiel smiled at the man. "Ah, don't interrupt the Imperial. It's just plain rude to bother him while he's venting. He needs to release all that frustration before he explodes. Right, gentlemen?"

"Damn you! If Tarro Blood hadn't warned me about this little tradition of the Mandalorians, I never would have known to come here to stop you! I'll make you pay for this insult!" The officer actually waved a fist at her, then.

Kastiel rolled her eyes. "That figures. Mako, add this little incident to our ever-growing list of reasons we're going to kill Tarro Blood, okay?"

"How many reasons do you think we'll rack up before it's done?"

"Hey, let's not get ahead of ourselves! Bad enough he made these poor guys into saps. No need to rub it in their faces."

"Oh, yea. My bad."

"Enough!" The Imperial burst, pointing at Kastiel. "Get her! Shoot her dead!"

Mako stepped smoothly behind Kastiel, using the armored bounty hunter as something of a shield even as she lifted her blaster to shoot at the Neimoidian. The man screeched in that strange echoing call common to his species as the shot caught him right in the chest, spinning him around before he tumbled bleeding to the ground. Mako finished him off with another shot to his large melon-shaped head, grunting as his green blood splashed out against the floor.

Kastiel reached forward, grabbing the officer by the lapels of his jacket and spinning him around until his back was to her front. She held him there with an arm around his throat, even as she raised her blaster towards the two soldiers now barking at her with their rifles held up. She whispered into the officer's ear, "He sent you tools to your deaths, here. Don't worry. I'll make him pay for it."

Then she fired, rapidly, gunning down the soldiers before they ever got off a single shot in defense of their commander-turned-captive. The officer whined as his men fell dead towards the floor. But Kastiel shoved him, hard, so that he fell forward onto his arms and knees, sliding through the blood the soldiers' corpses were streaming across the floor. He cried out, yelling as he slipped trying to get back to his feet.

But Kastiel was already shooting. Her first shot took him in the lower back, and he yelped against the burning pain. He also fell forward, landing with a hard thud against the floor as his spine was neatly severed by the blaster bolt. He gurgled against the blood filling his mouth. That's when Kastiel's second shot smacked into the back of his skull, ending his last desperate struggle to breathe.

Mako stepped over to look closer at the officer's body. She shook her head towards Kastiel. "For a second there, I thought you had shot him in the ass."

Kastiel shrugged. "Why add insult to injury?"

Mako laughed. The two women moved towards the hangar, watching silently as the workers in the space ran for the doors as the sounds of blaster fire continued echoing. Kastiel grunted, "Told them it was my ship."

"Actually, I don't think they gave you a chance to actually _say_ that. Too busy calling you scum and virus."

"Well, I thought it. They should've listened."

Mako grinned at her as they approached the ramp leading towards the starship's airlock door. "I won't care if we insult Tarro Blood as we injure him, though. I mean, I'd like to shoot _him_ in the ass."

Kastiel grunted. "How can we tell the difference between his ass and his face, though? They look so much alike."

Mako chuckled. "Well, he paints his face."

"True. Although we don't know. He may paint his ass, too." Kastiel stopped on the ramp, looked over at Mako. "He's living on borrowed time, regardless."

Mako sighed. "He's the first person I've ever really hated. I don't really like the feeling. I just want to make him pay!"

Kastiel shrugged. "I've hated several people. Use that feeling to fuel you, hold you to your course. Some people, Mako. They just need to die. Best way to relieve hatred is to remove the people causing you to feel it."

Mako wondered for a brief moment about Kastiel's more personal kills, feeling certain there had been some. But she didn't ask. She followed the hunter through into the airlock of the ship, rather. In front of her, Kastiel started grumbling. Mako stopped, craned her neck to see around the bounty hunter. "What stinks?"

"The entire ship stinks, actually."

The two women gaped at the space, glancing around with wide eyes. The cargo hold where they were standing was littered with piles of scrap, much of it outright garbage. A nearby workbench was crammed with broken parts and greasy metals. Kastiel stepped forward, kicking a rather large piece of aluminium out of her way and causing a nasty clanging sound to echo through the space.

"Oh! Hello! I am not sure who you are but welcome to my master's vessel. How may I be of assistance, good, kind sir?" Kastiel ran her gaze up and down the protocol droid that hurried out from behind a large crate to stand in front of her in a shaking heap of torn up metal. The thing's chassis was pockmarked with dents and scratches, probably from being tossed or pushed into the piles of trash strewn in the hold.

She gestured towards Mako. "Get us out of here quickly, Mako. That pitiful captain back there might have called for backup before we shot him in the ass."

"You didn't hit him in the ass, actually. It was his back," Mako reminded her as she stepped towards the steel stairwell leading up towards what they presumed was a bridge area.

"Hey, it worked!" Kastiel looked back towards the droid. "What are you called, droid?"

"I am a 2V-R8 protocol droid, sir. I am normally referred to by my master as Junk."

"Was the Neimoidian your master?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, he's dead, complete with green gooey blood all over the floor back there. I'm your master now. Is that going to be a problem?"

The droid shook his metallic head. "Absolutely not, kind new master. He didn't bathe. It was rather disgusting. Not that there's anything wrong with that, if you do not like to bathe either, sweet gentle master."

Kastiel rolled her eyes. She could feel the rumble under her feet as the ship's engines began whirring. She gestured towards the droid. "Tell you what. Stop calling me 'sweet', 'gentle', or 'kind' and I won't call you 'Junk', okay? We'll refer to you as Two, rather."

"Yes, master. I will respond to the designation of Two from now on."

"Good. Your primary function from here on out will be cleaning up this heap of a ship. Begin here in the hold. All of these scraps need to be organized into salvageable piles. Anything that can't be sold on the Trade Network needs to be removed. Get to it, Two. I need this space cleared enough I can train and spar in here." Kastiel watched the droid turn to begin pulling and yanking through the rubbish.

She grunted as she moved to follow Mako. She passed through a semi-large space that acted as a lounge and mess combination. A table with bench seating was bolted against a nearby wall, alongside a stretch of counter and meal-preparation machines. Kastiel considered checking the cold storage for whatever foodstuffs might be inside but she decided to leave that task to the droid. It's not like she was going to eat anything that had been stored in the place.

A stop at the Vaiken Spacedock was necessary, Kastiel decided. She had earned pay enough on Dromund Kaas to outfit the ship with basics and necessities. She should probably refit her new droid, too. The thing's chassis was nearly worn through. And it was obvious the thing was going to prove necessary to maintaining some new semblance of order on the ship.

Kastiel stepped into the hallway leading off from the lounge towards the bridge. She noted the doorway leading to the captain's quarters as she went along. She scanned that space quickly. There was a large bed, a storage cabinet and desk, and another small door that surely led to a refresher. Her fingers itched to clean the two rooms, but Mako suddenly called out just then.

"Kas! Kas, hurry!"

Mako was leaning over the navigation console on the bridge, muttering anxiously. Kastiel glanced out the viewport to see the skyline over Kaas City as the ship continued to rise into the air. She frowned, bending over slightly to better see what looked like a multitude of burning trails through the gloomy, rainy skies over the city. "Mako, what is that? It looks like some kind of meteor shower."

"Those aren't meteors. That's debris! An Imperial dreadnaught just blew up and pieces of it are falling all over the city! Comm traffic is going nuts! We're damn lucky we took off when we did, mind you. It seems Imperial Intelligence is already stopping ships from leaving the spaceport."

Kastiel gaped. "Damn it to hell!" She turned and rushed back down the hallway towards the lounge. She quickly keyed in for transmission on the holoterminal, anxiously tapping her booted foot against the floor as she waited for him to respond. "Come on, come on … answer me, dammit."

"Kas? Is that you, Kas?" Tobie's image blurred into shape on the terminal, and Kastiel gasped with relief. She could see him strapping a pack to his side even as he addressed her transmission, knew he was preparing to rush out and assist in the disaster response. "Did you get out of the city, Kas? Tell me you're okay!"

"Me? Shit, Tobie! There's flaming debris raining down on the city! Stop worrying about me!"

"Bah! I've been in combat plenty of times. Flaming debris is par for the course. Where are you, girl?"

"Got me a ship. We left the spaceport just now. Do you need help?"

"No! Get out of here! I'm going to assist the survivors, help investigators as I can. You know you have to keep your head down, make sure your brother doesn't find you. His damn family … hey, maybe the debris will take out Karen's bastard relatives!"

Kastiel laughed lightly. "Only you could find something to hope for in this mess, Tobie."

Tobie shrugged. "Sometimes I think it would've been better if I did as you asked and stole him away from them years ago."

"They would have come after us, used it as excuse enough to kill all of us. They'd already hurt him so much. You were right, we had to keep him safe best we could."

Tobie grunted. "Keep him safe … Is that why his uncle ended up dead a few years ago, Kas?"

Kastiel shrugged. "His uncle died? How did that happen?"

He glared at her. "Just stay out of sight, Kas. The man's wife would love to know who did it." He looked back over his shoulder. "There are explosions sounding. I have to go, Kas. Please. Stay safe. Fight hard. I love you."

Kastiel watched as his image disappeared. She turned around to see Mako standing just behind her, her head canted thoughtfully. "So. Was this uncle of your brother's one of those people you said you'd hated?"

Kastiel smiled, a malicious twist of her lips. "I don't hate him anymore."


	17. Chapter 16 -- Noticing them, what?

"Heya, gorgeous!"

Kastiel eyed the man – a human, with a bushy brown beard covering the lower half of his face – with a critical, unsmiling face. His unkempt appearance screamed "local", anyway. Any of the Imperial officers gathered together like a herd of rampaging Nerfs here at Sobrik would lose what senses they had if they were to catch sight of one of their men garbed like he was. His clothes were simple and frayed, a pale creamy color. But there was a well-worn rifle tossed over his back, too. He was staring at her heatedly, his gaze sliding across her form and back up to her face.

"_Resistance, maybe_," Kastiel thought, as she considered the appeal made by the captain just inside the entrance-way of the spaceport behind her. That he might seriously consider her attractive never even occurred to her. "What do you want?" She shrugged at the man. Beside her, Mako shifted, still more fascinated looking at Sobrik's huge artillery guns than anything else.

His eyes went dark with anxiety. "Don't think you can help me. Although you're not from Balmorra, either. You important to these Imperials?"

"I damn well hope not. Becoming important to Imperials is more dangerous than accepting a loan from a Hutt."

He sighed. "I need help. Trying to get in and talk to someone, get me inside. There's no way I want to fight anymore. I'm so damn tired. I heard the Imperials pay big for information. Maybe enough to get me off and away from this blasted-up rock."

Kastiel shook her head. "If I were you, I'd steer long clear of anything like selling secrets to Imperials. Probably cost more than it'll ever earn you."

"I have to get out of here."

She nodded towards the front of Sobrik, far away from the spaceport. "I recommend using the gates, right over there."

He crossed his arms across his chest, leaning back against the stone overhang, there, in front of the spaceport, pointedly ignoring her advice. Kastiel twisted her lips in wry acknowledgement. But she turned away, moving further into Sobrik, leaving the fool to his quest. Mako trotted along beside her, craning her head all around.

"This place is hopping with crazy comm signals, Kas. And just about every one of them is heavily encrypted. Stuff that's not is heavy propaganda pieces. It's enough to make my head hurt." Mako shouldered Kastiel suddenly. "That guy was interested, you know. Might have gotten him to give up his little play, there, if you'd given him some better attention."

Kastiel stopped and turned to look at Mako, utterly confused. "What are you talking about? The human at the spaceport? He was interested in selling out to the Imperials."

"What? Kas, he was interested in _you_ first. When you blew him off was when he admitted his business, here." Mako watched the expressions flashing across Kastiel's face, the bewilderment there. "Wow, you had no idea, did you?"

Kastiel looked up at the shield arching over the garrison, the flashing golden matrixes of the dome, there. She only muttered. "Wasn't me he wanted. Only what I could do for him. Which wasn't much, obviously. And it doesn't matter, anyway. He'll eventually get the attention he's looking for. Doubt he'll like it much."

"Wait a minute!" Mako snatched at Kastiel's arm as she began to walk along. The tiny cyborg was shaking her head when Kas stopped again. "You honestly don't think a guy might just like you? Come on! Men look at you everywhere we go! You're … amazing!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes. "There's no word that could mean 'stupid' enough to encompass that statement, Mako." Mako just shook her head, stunned. "Look at me, Mako! When I was a kid, they called me 'dog face' and 'metal brain'. When I finally grew a pair of tits worth looking at, they offered to cover my head so all they would have to look at was my body." Kastiel turned away when Mako's gaze suddenly softened. She snorted. "Don't get all teary-eyed on me, either. It's not really important. Just the way things are, is all."

Mako sighed. "And here I thought I was the one with all the hang-ups. I'm scrawny enough that most men think I'm a little kid. The ones who look past all that are worried they'll hurt me if they go at it the way I like them to, even." She looked over at Kastiel, shooting her a sly smile. "Hey, at least we both know it's males we like. Was worried at first you were into females. Not that I would be bothered, mind you. But I wouldn't know how to let you down without hurting your feelings."

Kastiel barked out a laugh. "Gods, Mako. Stop!"

Mako leaned back suddenly, pretending concern. "You _are_ interested in men, right?"

"Geez, Mako. Yes, all right!" Kas laughed helplessly.

"Oh, good. Phew! Wouldn't want to think I'd inadvertently hurt your feelings by saying I didn't want to hurt your feelings." Mako smiled as the bounty hunter continued laughing. She was gratified to see the other woman's pleasure right then, to know she'd offered some small bit of humor to ruin the embarrassment that had been coloring her features. Besides, neither of them had had much to laugh about recently, she thought.

Eventually, the two women continued walking, moving towards the office and quarters of one Lieutenant Major Pirrel – toady and stooge to the right and ready Admiral Ivernus, their current target in the Great Hunt. Pirrel was hopefully going to work at providing them the means of attracting Ivernus down to the surface of Balmorra, in fact. Mako's circuits were working in overdrive as they walked along, plotting ways to keep Pirrel off guard just long enough to maneuver him and his commander into the best possible set of circumstances.

But Mako stumbled slightly as one last thought occurred to her in regards to Kastiel's romantic aspirations. Her gaze narrowed on the bounty hunter's back as they entered through the doorway into the interior of the building where they'd hopefully meet the Lieutenant Major. Because, seriously. How much did Kas fail at noticing men's attentions, anyway? Was it every time?


	18. Chapter 17 -- Just Need Killing

"_A gift from a friend on Dromund Kaas, my ass_," she thought. Kastiel was dumbfounded as she watched the simpering meows the Cathar woman was making as she leaned up against the Imperial officer. Pirrel simply ate it up, like a little dog chowing down on a piece of bloody meat. She was almost tempted to pat his stomach in reward for being such a complete boob of a man.

But then the Cathar reached down to run a hand across Pirrel's chest towards the upper part of his stomach, beating Kastiel to the punch. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"Master is wise and powerful," the feline woman crooned some more.

Pirrel yanked on some of the tendrils of fur lining the side of the woman's thin head, before he winked over at Kastiel. "Murghir, you _are_ an amusing bit of fluff, hmmm? My apologies for the delay at the door, bounty hunter. I never informed that idiot droid I was hiring a bounty hunter."

Kastiel shrugged. Playing with the droid – the sounds the thing had made when she asked it what the penalty for destroying an Imperial droid was, just before she leveled her blaster at its head – that alone had proved entertaining enough she was in a fairly good mood as she entered the lieutenant major's office. Pirrel gestured towards Kastiel, motioning her towards a corner of the room.

She rolled her eyes just behind his back, but Kas followed him, ignoring Mako's hissing reminder to stay on Pirrel's "good side". Kas snorted quietly to herself. She refused to rub the fool officer's chest. As he leaned closer to whisper to her, though, she thought she just might be able sing some nonsense at him. Maybe. "_Not a single damn meow, dammit_," she thought, lowering her head conspiratorially.

Pirrel murmured. "My superior, Colonel Sartius, is an incompetent fool. I toil in his shadow. It infuriates me that Colonel Sartius is the one who has the full confidence of Admiral Ivernus, when it should be me!"

Kastiel raised her eyebrows at him.

"Colonel Sartius maintains his position of power because he excels at hiding his gross incompetence from the Admiral. But we're going to destroy that façade." He waved a hand in some grand gesture. Kastiel worked at reminding herself how important it was to manipulate the man. Not laugh in his face as she imagined the Admiral tossing him out an airlock.

So Kastiel nodded sagely, rather. "I see. So the colonel loses his job and the admiral comes here to give you a promotion."

Pirrel smiled. "We're going to work so well together. I can tell."

Kastiel bit her lip again. She didn't even have to meow, she thought.

* * *

Kastiel decided to hunt when she was just fifteen years old. Until then, all the learning she did - whether it was fighting the various gang members or criminals so pervasive in the Lower Reaches of Kaas City or more formal sessions with sparring trainers in out of the way rooms and basements – she sought out of necessity, looking to defend herself, to keep the next thug from taking something, someone important to her.

It was when she was fifteen that she set course towards a difference, when she finally decided that waiting for an attack wasn't half as worthwhile as attacking one's attacker first. That was the year she'd begun seeking hunters to teach her, to guide her. She picked up her first blaster when Braden finally caved in and showed her how to handle the thing, how to manipulate it, how to swing it until it almost became a part of her body, an extension of herself. He said, "Watching you shoot is like watching a person come home for the very first time, girl. It's just something that _belongs_ to you, is all."

Not that the first time she killed a man, she used a blaster. That bastard didn't deserve a clean kill, anyway.

No, she beat him to death. She used her fists first, vicious jabs in the most vulnerable locations on the man's body, all those spots made pudgy from his overly rich diet and lavish lifestyle. When he fell to the floor, gasping in pained distress, she turned to kicking him using the thick boots that covered her slim feet. In the end, though, she clubbed him using the long metal tool shaped like a rod with a clawed end of sorts, probably used to reach items on the upper shelves there in that study of his. She'd recognized the shape and width of the device, anyway. So had he. He whimpered when she hefted it over her head that first time, even.

She was just sixteen years old at the time. And she never once regretted the killing. Not once. She'd told Mako some people needed killing. Because the simple fact was that some people needed killing. It was a mantra she carried with her as she began making her first hunts, her first jobs. And it worked pretty well, so that killing sometimes became little more than a chore. Just taking out the trash, she would tell herself.

Other times, the lines between who really needed killing became grey and blurry, though. Watching the slender, trembling slicer Pirrel had called Zalia crawling out from underneath some loose garbage behind a computer console where she'd been hiding for – how long had she been hiding in there, Kas wondered, bemusedly – well, those were the times Kastiel wanted to kick the person who'd hired her more than she did her actual target. She sighed heavily, thinking, "_Damn Pirrel and his fucking plan. Loose ends? How bout the loose end rubbing his damn stomach!_"

Zalia was shaking from lack of food and water. Kastiel nodded towards Mako, watched as the cyborg offered her a small cantina filled with clean drinking water. The woman began stammering then, "We have … to get out of here!"

Kas shook her head. "You need to input Pirrel's virus first."

Zalia gaped. "Are you … crazy? I can't do that! If I do that, it will send out an alert which will bring a team of droids down to this section! We'll be slaughtered…!"

"A few droids aren't going to hurt me."

"You? I'm not worried about you! Do I look blaster-proof to you?"

Mako stepped forward, offered Zalia what looked like a cookie. Kas glared at Mako. Where'd she get cookies? With chocolate in them, dammit! Kastiel grumbled but Mako just nudged her. Mako said, "Hey, we've gotten out of way worse situations, trust me."

Zalia began trembling again. "There's no way to talk you out of this, is there? I'm going to die down here, I just know it."

Kastiel rolled her eyes. "Just do it. Wasted enough time standing here arguing about it. Seems the only way for me to find out where Mako got the cookies is to get this damn job done."

Mako chuckled as Zalia stumbled over towards the console, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "insane" and "gonna die". Kastiel shrugged her blasters loose, though, and smoothly rolled her shoulders.

In the back of her mind, she could hear the voice of that hunter trainer on the Imperial fleet, the one who pulled her off to the side as she and Mako were escaping Hutta's sour air. Gen Visla was his name. The skinny one. His brawny companion, Zakkeg, had interspersed the conversation with grunts that sounded like similar words of advice. Kastiel had liked the both of them, even when they knocked her down and stomped on her chest for a bit.

"_Don't let your free hand go to waste. Balance your blasters well, rather. They need to work in concert, like a symphony. Only this one creates sweet sounds of dying. Theirs, not yours_." Gen told her.

Zakkeg had grunted, as well, "_That's why you need to have a strong set of armor. Don't let the damn fools get the bolts anywhere close to yer skin! Keep shit from hurting you. Then give as good as you get!_"

Kastiel met the droids with both blasters blazing, the fire staying steady, sweeping back and forth in front of her as the sound of whining cries from the machines began filling the air. Zalia shrieked, rushing back to hide in her pile of trash. But Mako jumped up on top of the console to add her blaster's pitch to the dance, whooping in delight as the droids clanked into heaps of smoky metal on the floor one by one.

The last droid was a huge monstrosity of a machine, rolling into the room on three large legs, large guns shooting out spitting balls of flame as it came. Kastiel rolled across the floor, coming up against one of the droid's front legs. Mako tumbled back behind the console as Kas yelled to her, "Get down, explosion incoming!" Then Kastiel thumbed a thermal grenade, thrusting the explosive into the underside of the droid and listening for the clink of its magnetic clutches before she jumped up and ran towards the cover of the now large mound of droid bodies.

Kas humphed as a piece of droid leg smacked into her shoulder blade, making a clanging sound against her armor and knocking her forward so that her face slid across the floor. She raised her head slowly and wiped across her stinging nose. She sneezed a thin trail of blood, shaking her head as she glanced back towards the burning wreckage that used to be a mean war machine. "Mako? You'd better be okay or I'm going to be pissed enough to blow this entire factory sky high!"

Mako laughed out loud. "Can't fool me, Kas! You're only looking for a cookie!"

Kastiel sniffed back against the blood trickling from her nose as she moved towards the console where Mako was regarding the slicer's work. That's when Zalia stumbled over to them. "I can't believe we made it!"

Kas was still wiping at her bloody nose. Her voice sounded particularly wheezy as she responded. "Told you so."

Zalia only stared at her. Then she reached up to clasp her hands together. "Thank you! Stars, but I've never seen anything like that! You … you're amazing!"

Kastiel shook her head at her, then. "You'd better stop making me out to be some sort of hero, Zalia. Pirrel didn't send me here to rescue your sorry ass, anyway." She heard Mako gasp from behind her.

Zalia's eyes widened. Kastiel sighed as the slicer began shaking again. Every time she shook like that, the heavy tendrils of her hair actually seemed to come alive, as if they were moving of their own volition. It reminded Kast of one of the old myths her mother had spoken of, of women who's hair was made of poisonous snakes.

Zalia held up her hands, begging. "Oh no! Please! I did as he asked, the way he wanted! I … I swear! I'll never slice another computer, not ever! Just don't hurt me … please!"

Kas glanced back at an agitated Mako. "You got a cloth or something? I can't get my nose to stop bleeding." Mako's eyebrows shot up. But she yanked out a small piece of linen, passing it to Kas with a bemused expression on her face. Zalia was still gibbering, swearing she'd pay Kastiel all the monies she'd made for the slicing job. Kas rolled her eyes, even as she held the cloth up to her face. "Geez, Zalia. Shut up. And keep your stupid credits. You'll need them to get off this world before Pirrel notices you survived his stupid little stunt, here."

Zalia gasped. "Wha …?"

Kastiel pointed. "There's the door! Use it!"

"Thank you! Oh, gods, thank you!"

Mako watched the slicer stumble through the door, rushing away quickly even as tears slid down her dirty cheeks. She sighed as she glanced at Kas, who was looking after the fleeing woman with a bitter expression.

"What's wrong, Kas?"

"I'm trying to figure out if the fact that woman got a cookie, when I didn't, should've earned her a spot on my need-to-be-killed list."

Mako handed Kastiel a cookie.


	19. Chapter 18 -- Quinn the Monkey-Lizard

"So first we help Pirrel sabotage his Colonel's efforts to reconfigure the Okara droids to support Imperial interests – without killing the slicer, which was rather nice of us, I might add. And now we've helped rile up a bunch of sentient bugs so they'll eat more Imperials." Mako was muttering to Kastiel as they entered the chemist's shop at the Sobrik market, relying more than anything on the potency of Kas' implants to pick up the low sound of her murmured comments. "I mean, don't you find it funny, that we're actually helping the Republic here on Balmorra, more than we are the Empire?"

Kastiel shot Mako a twisted grin, "Bear no particular loyalty to the Empire, regardless. They just pay me. If they happen to be idiots intent on sabotaging their own interests, it's nothing to me." Kas tossed the stinger she'd cut off of the Colicoid queen up onto the table in front of the chemist. The man clucked in some disgust at first. Before he noted the dripping venom still oozing from the end of the stinger. Then he began making a cooing sound, even as he bent over the thing to begin prodding it with a small metal rod of some sort.

"I imagine Colicoid venom is worth a pretty bit, scientist. How much?" Kastiel barked, then, at the chemist, a human, with grey thinning hair. There were a couple of aliens working at various tables back behind the shop's owner, carefully handling various liquids of several different colors and textures. Probably slaves, Kas decided as she watched the arconan and duros working.

"I'll give you twenty credits for this," the chemist said, trying his damndest to sound firm and certain. But Kastiel noted easily the tense way he clenched his teeth, the stressed lines around his eyes. He was full of shit, of course. She laughed lightly.

"You're insulting me, scientist. You don't want to do that." She watched as the man's gaze dropped down towards her blasters, tucked firmly against her sides. He gulped. "How about you give me two hundred credits, along with five thermal grenades? And I'll go ahead and leave this thing here on your table?"

The chemist nodded, relieved he wasn't about to be shot. "Deal. Tik? Get this stinger properly stored. And don't touch the venom! Every drop is worth more than your useless self!"

Kastiel was handling the grenades, moving them into the pockets of her pack where she stored such items, when the door burst open and two Imperials actually marched into the shop. Well, one of the Imperials seemed to be marching. He was at least focused and determined, his back ramrod straight as he moved forward. The other soldier was following him, but he was agitated and worried, periodically shooting frightened glances towards the officer in front of him.

The officer strode towards the table, where he plunked down a box. Mako jumped when the box began twitching and hopping as something inside moved and chattered. The young soldier behind the officer was in near tears, even if he did stand there at manly attention.

"Get rid of this … thing." The officer's voice was smooth and melodic, his accent marking him the product of Imperial training galore.

Kastiel actually smiled as he pointed at the box, only because his speech and demeanor reminded her achingly of her own father. That and his coloring, too, with his pale skin and dark hair. The eyes were off, though. Lucian Phyre's eyes had been dark chocolate brown, like Kastiel's own. This man's eyes were actually blue. Dark blue, Kas noted, as the officer shot her a brief glance.

"But … Lieutenant Quinn, sir …" The soldier was stammering now. Kastiel watched him trying to edge around the officer, as if to pull at the box. She wondered what the hell was in there, especially when whatever creature it was began chattering even more as it heard the soldier's voice.

"Shut. Up. Joffries. Not another word." The officer leaned toward the chemist, intent. "I am sure you have something in this shop that can manage to successfully terminate a small … animal-thing … of some kind. Correct?"

The chemist rocked back on his heels. "Are you asking me to euthanize a beast?"

"Is that not what I just said?"

The young soldier stammered again. "You said 'terminate', Lieutenant Quinn. Might as well have told the fellow to shoot him."

Lieutenant Quinn sighed, rolling his eyes. He ignored the soldier. "Do you have some means of dealing with some small animal, or not?"

The chemist raised his eyebrows towards the officer. "Work like that could prove expensive. I'd have to charge you as much for the disposal of the animal's corpse, mind you."

Kastiel almost laughed at the expression on the Imperial's face. The man's soldier was openly tearful now. She leaned closer to the box. "So … what exactly is it you're looking to kill, Mr. Imperial Officer, sir? Lieutenant Quinn, right?"

The man looked at her, his gaze skittering down her frame, taking in her armored appearance. Behind her, Mako shrugged over at him, smiling. "Are you interested in taking on a bounty for the beast? It's quite fearsome. Thus far, it's managed to wreck my mess, chew through several cables, and just this morning knocked over a pitcher of water that ruined a week's worth of reports on several datapads. All this before I even knew it had been smuggled into my headquarters, amazingly enough." He leaned closer. "The lost reports is what allowed me to discover it."

Kastiel couldn't help but laugh, then. Her brown eyes were dancing as she raised herself up to look down into box, carefully pushing the lid aside to see what was inside. The officer frowned as he regarded her profile, then. "Have we met before?" He asked.

Kas shook her head as she settled back down onto her feet, her eyes still twinkling with humor as she looked at him. "You in the habit of taking out bounties against Kowakian Monkey-Lizards, then?"

"Is that what the thing is?" He sighed very dramatically.

"Yep. Highly prized by various nefarious characters throughout the galaxy. The things are highly intelligent. Probably destroyed your datapads on purpose." Kastiel raised an eyebrow at him as the monkey-lizard inside the box began laughing at that.

Lieutenant Quinn shrugged. "I have considered that very possibility. Which is why we're now standing here debating the thing's imminent demise." Poor Joffries sniffled, then. Kastiel thought she saw him wipe a tear away from his face.

She shrugged. "Regardless. No, we haven't met before. Why do you ask?"

"You looked familiar for a moment." He shook his head. "Although it's not really important, I suppose. So … chemist, can you terminate the beast, or not?"

Kas leaned up against the edge of the table. "You do know that Kowakian Monkey-Lizards are highly prized little pets, right? You could sell it for a pretty number of credits."

Joffries almost wailed, then. "He cost me two thousand credits! Two thousand! It was a month's pay!"

Lieutenant Quinn sighed again. "You were probably intoxicated, Joffries. Make a note. Wasting one's pay on non-regulation creatures will only earn you the censure and discredit of your commander. Learn from this."

Kas bit her lip. "Are there regulation creatures Joffries could have spent his pay on?"

"Yes. However, any creature that decorates the mess with the bones of the rotten fish it's consumed during the night is not considered a regulation creature of any sort."

Kastiel hummed. "Well, I'll remove the creature for you, lieutenant. No worries."

He shot her another glance. "Will you destroy it?"

"Nope. But if it helps, it will be relegated to the confines of one of the ugliest starships you've ever set your eyes on."

The chemist intruded on the transaction at that point. "I do believe the officer was discussing termination fees with me."

Kastiel twisted her lips into a snide grin. "Weren't you the fellow talking about higher fees? I'm a professional bounty hunter. I won't charge the lieutenant here a single credit for getting rid of this thing's corpse."

The lieutenant looked at her, his expression deadpan serious. But she could see a slight, even negligible twitch of his mouth, there at the corner. That, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. She doubted anyone else would've noted such changes to his expression, they were so minor. But she realized his amusement was immense, nonetheless. "As the beast has almost certainly sought to deliberately antagonize me, I am quite interested in knowing it will suffer, actually."

"Ah, well then. You should know I will only serve it the worst sort of diet. Plenty of green, leafy vegetables. And fresh meat, nothing rotten or smelly at all." She grinned when the Monkey-Lizard made choking noises from inside the box. "Oh, and Mako here will make a point of pulling its ears at least once a day. Hard." She leaned close to the officer to whisper loudly, "They have the most sensitive ears." She nodded, sagely, when the box began jumping as the Monkey-Lizard became particularly agitated.

The officer hummed, then, as he glanced over at the box. "That means its suffering will be protracted over several long and desperate months. Your solution is acceptable, hunter." He looked at her. "I will not pay you."

She shrugged. "If you don't pay me, I'll name it 'Lieutenant Quinn' and make sure to introduce it to everyone I meet."

Joffries mumbled right then. "Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, to be precise."

Kastiel grinned slyly. "So be it. 'Lieutenant Malavai Quinn' will surely become a monkey-lizard of renown before too long. I'll see to it."

The lieutenant glared back at Joffries. "You will be the one who pays for that, Joffries. Have no doubt." Then he turned back to Kas. "How much?"

"Hmm, I suppose … two hundred credits will keep me from naming it 'Quinn'. I'll simply refrain from introducing it if you pay me only a hundred credits, however." The lieutenant didn't smile as he handed her a hundred credits. She nodded. "Mako, you get to carry Quinn the Monkey-Lizard back to the ship. It's been nice doing business with you, lieutenant!"

She waited until the two Imperials left the shop before she keeled over in laughter. Mako shook her head as she leaned over to mumble towards Kastiel. "Making fun of the most incredibly attractive man I've seen on Balmorra yet is precisely why you're still a virgin, Kas." Kastiel only rolled her eyes, though, and she never stopped laughing.

"I'd just like to see you try and pair me up with that stick-up-his-ass officer, Mako. Not in a million years!"


	20. Chapter 19 -- It Won't Bite You, Mako!

Kastiel hunkered down over the heat source, rubbing wearily against the implant under her dark eye. Mako sighed as she slumped against the hard-packed dirt piled into mound next to her, considering the bounty hunter with tired eyes. Kastiel began pulling meatpies from the pack she'd tucked against her side, carefully unwrapping the food and laying it against the heat source before leaning back against the pile of dirt with Mako.

Mako grimaced as she eyed the flaky crusted pies beginning to steam there on the heater in front of them. "Where'd you get those, Kas?"

Kastiel tossed Mako a wicked grin. "Had them made in that little shop next to the chemist while you took Quinn-ie back to the ship."

"Oh, no."

"They're good. I tried one while I waited for you."

"_You_ think they're good?"

Kastiel laughed.

The first time Mako had attempted to consume a bit of food that Kastiel enjoyed had ended with the tiny cyborg scrambling around desperately seeking some sort of water to soothe her tortured palate. They'd been seated at the counter of a small café nearby Tobie's clinic at the time. But that hadn't stopped Mako's mad dashing around for relief. She'd actually knocked several patrons out of her way, in fact. Her shrieks had been pitiful, with only a few words - like, "Eek, hurts! … Water" – that managed to escape.

The sight of Kastiel rolling in circles against the counter, laughing helplessly, had not improved Mako's humor over the fiasco. And she balefully eyed the bounty hunter now, her mistrust patently obvious. "There isn't water enough around here, Kas."

"Not needed." Kastiel chuckled as Mako poked at one of the bubbling meatpies, as if the thing would tell her what sort of spices were hidden inside. "I swear, Mako. It won't bite you back."

Mako hummed a sad little sound.

A loud boom suddenly echoed across the field, so that both women glanced over towards the nearby battle lines, there in front of the Balmorran Arms Factory. The place was currently held by resistance forces, although Kastiel suspected there were plenty of Republic troops fighting their tails off in there as well. The battle had reduced the field around the Factory into a pockmarked checkerboard of trenches, torn-up, scraggly bushes and burnt grass, and twisted bits of metal from wrecked vehicles and transports. Kas could easily discern the looming frame of a downed starship, even.

She sighed, glancing back at Mako once again. "We don't have much time to rest, regardless. We have a stupid garbage stow to find in there." Her voice echoed with disdain for this latest venture Pirrel – or "The Idiot", as Kas had taken to calling him - had set them upon. Sending his commanding officer on a wild goose chase to find a garbage stow which Kas was going to tag with a transponder was blatant madness. It would be funny, Kas thought, if only she could be there to actually see the Imperials rush the ship, only to discover trash was their prize. But Kastiel couldn't quite wrap her head around Pirrel's belief this was going to work to solidify any sense of respect for he himself in the eyes of Admiral Ivernus.

In Kastiel's experience, military bumbling usually resulted in a cascade effect. Mostly because shit normally rolled downhill. So that Pirrel was going to get his ass handed to him in a sling. Unless Ivernus was a total nitwit of an officer himself, of course. But that wasn't so likely, either. Kas thought Ivernus stayed safely up there on his ship precisely because he was at least semi-aware there was a target emblazoned on his ass. That was the sort of prescience that indicated a level of intelligent forethought far beyond anything Pirrel had demonstrated. Probably ever.

"_Honestly, how did someone like Pirrel ever get promoted past an ensign rank?_" Kastiel thought to herself.

She looked over at Mako just as she began tentatively biting into a meatpie. The gravy oozed out to spill down Mako's chin, so that the cyborg spent several frantic moments hissing as the heated mess stung her skin. Kastiel clucked at her, "And here I thought you'd be more careful, Mako."

Mako glared back at her. "It's hot, dammit! You did that on purpose!"

Kas snorted. "You watched me heat the things." She reached down for a pie of her own, settling it against her knee as she carefully removed a small bottle that she shook against the food. Mako eyed the meatpie that Kas raised towards her mouth, its crust now liberally marked with red spices that just promised vicious retribution to one's tastebuds.

"One of these days, you're going to have to tell me how you do that."

"Oh, that one's easy enough. I take the pie and place it into my mouth. Then I bite down using my teeth. Then …"

"Shut up, Kas. You know what I meant!"

Kastiel grinned at Mako around her meal, chewing vigorously. She glanced around the field carefully, eyeing the wavy grass for any untoward movement. They ate contentedly for several minutes, with Kas periodically motioning towards Mako's lunch with her spice bottle until Mako pointedly hid her food from the bounty hunter.

Kastiel laughed, just before an artillery shell rocketed its way towards the front of the Imperial line. A defensive burst from a nearby Imperial gun mounted atop a large troop carrier caused the shell to explode in mid-air, sending a burst of booming sound winging across the field.

Lunchtime on Balmorra. Got to love it, Kas thought.


	21. Chapter 20 -- Get out of my way!

Vette glared at the tiny human who bumped into her as she followed along behind Lusiel. The Sith had a tendency to maintain her firm, determined stride regardless of Vette's motions, as if she often forgot Vette was even there. Not that the twi'lek ever thought for a single moment that Lusiel was at all unaware of Vette. Lusiel was the sort of Sith constantly aware of everything happening around her.

Like clockwork, in fact, Vette saw Lusiel up ahead, turning around to frown at Vette.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" Vette waved one small blue hand at the little human. "You nearly knocked me over!"

The human's olive-toned complexion was highlighted by a delicate arch of cybernetics across one slim eyebrow. Vette found the effect to her looks rather tantalizing. Especially when the implant went up as the little female cocked her eyebrow at her.

"More like you weren't paying much attention to where you're going actually. You were watching the ass of that Sith, there, in fact. Why don't you continue chasing it, and leave me be?" The cyborg's voice was melodic, even if her words were infuriating. Vette clenched her hands, hard.

"Not much for manners, are you?"

"What, do you want me to give you a hug, too? Poor baby!"

"You metallic witch!"

"Blue-skinned freak!"

"Ever had a lightsaber stuck up your ass?"

"Ever had blasters taken to yours?" The cyborg leaned to the side, so that she could regard Vette's frame. "Thought so. That flat piece you call a butt seems plenty shaved."

"Argh!"

"Vette!" Vette turned to look towards Lusiel, saw the Sith standing nearby with her hands on her hips as she watched their verbal battle bemusedly. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Sorry." Vette nodded at the Sith, but she still tossed one final glare at the little cyborg. She noticed the female was carrying a pack of some sort, heard a beeping coming from inside the thing. She was about to yank at the pack, wondering suddenly if the cyborg was, in fact, some member of the local Resistance, trying to smuggle some goods out of the factory currently in the process of falling into Imperial hands. But the cyborg was suddenly jerked back and around by the armored figure of a woman bounty hunter.

Vette's eyebrows went up in surprise, even as the little cyborg yelped out, "Hey!"

"You have a Sith looking at you, twi'lek. I suggest you move along, and leave my friend be." The hunter spoke quietly, her back turned towards Lusiel. Vette regarded her consideringly for only a moment, taking in her dark-eyed gaze. The woman had implants of her own, although not so pretty as those of the little cyborg she'd called a friend.

Not that ugly was word she'd ever apply to the hunter, either. Rather the opposite. There was a vivid sort of fierce beauty to her features, a thrilling quality to her gaze. Not even the scars across the side of her face that swooped down along her neck detracted from that.

Lusiel barked out another call to her just then, and Vette nodded, moving to go around the hunter towards her Sith. The bounty hunter didn't watch her go. She spun around, rather, and pulled her companion after her, marching across the field made up of landing pads for the factory's transports. Vette watched them moving along, their dark heads weaving in and around the crates and sundry machines that seemed to mark every port Vette had ever seen.

Then she shrugged, falling into her normal place just behind Lusiel, as she looked forward once again to killing some spy of Darth Baras' and finally getting off this bombed-out mess of a rock.

* * *

"Fucking twi'lek. I mean, come on! What, does she think she owns the entire damn place, here? I'm gonna mess with her on the holonet, dammit! I'll just do a few searches for a twi'lek named Vette and …"

"No, Mako." Kastiel stopped to stare hard at her, her gaze firm and certain. Behind her, the transponder continued to blink against the hull of the garbage stow. Kas gripped the tool she was using to adhere the thing to the dumpster, her knuckles almost white as she clenched her fingers around the handle. "Just leave her alone."

"What? Why? If anyone deserves a swift boot in the ass, it's that little blue-skinned twit! What's the deal? She wasn't even cute!"

Kas shook her head. "Don't care about the twi'lek , Mako. Just stay off the grid where they're concerned, is all."

"They?" Mako eyed Kastiel, considering. "You mean … hey, nothing to be concerned about. We've killed Sith before, right?"

Mako choked back her chuckle when Kas shot her an angry look. "Don't, Mako. It's not even funny. That's one Sith we won't threaten. I'll kill anyone who tries threatening her, even. Do you understand me?"

"But why? Who is she?"

"Just do as I say, Mako. I mean it. Now, drop it." The transponder's blinking lights cast a muted glow against Kastiel's implants as she returned her attention to the hull of the ship once again. For the first time since meeting each other, Kas utterly ignored Mako's gaping stare.


	22. Chapter 21 -- You just came up short

Murghir jumped when Pirrel pinched her ass yet again. She clenched her jaw – yet again, yes – as she performed the requisite giggle designed to keep him happily deluded.

Honestly, the human was the sorriest piece of shit excuse for his species she'd yet come across. And she'd come across quite a few over the years. Humans tended to breed like the mammalian Hoppers that burrowed under the city-trees so prevalent on her home world. They acted much like rodents, too, she thought, just as Pirrel nipped the delicate end of her long pointed ear, pulling the fur there between his teeth.

"_If only I could treat Pirrel like the target, here. If anyone deserves to be on the receiving end of a Blood Hunt, it's him_", she thought, longingly. But nothing of her thoughts showed openly. She even shivered and moaned suggestively towards Pirrel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other bounty hunter rolling her eyes.

Murghir was still surprised the hunter was so easily fooled. The ruse she used to get closer to Pirrel was a good one, especially considering her Cathar features. Her russet brown fur marking her alien made it so that few Imperials would devote a moment of their day to considering anything she happened to say. And that's precisely why she was determined to win the Hunt.

She'd win, if not real respect for who she was, then at least she'd prove herself a power to be reckoned with. No one – not even some Imperial flunky on a hole-ridden world like Balmorra – would ever turn his nose up in the air as she approached.

But she'd worried that such a deception would not work against a fellow hunter. That was the variant that kept her fur standing tall, she was so certain the hunter she was up against, fighting against for the target, would see right through her pose and blast her where she stood. Not like Pirrel would mourn her sorry corpse, she'd thought.

So when the woman had only barely nodded during Pirrel's introduction of her as his "gift from a friend on Dromund Kaas", Murghir had been shocked. There were no blasters pulled, no shots fired. Just a brief, almost nonexistent glance in her direction, and then the hunter had proceeded to ignore her completely. It was bewildering, actually, so much so she was left wondering about the intelligence, in general, of the human species. She certainly wasn't impressed by their foresight, at least.

The loud whirring sound of a shuttle's engines broke through her thoughts just then, and Murghir looked up to watch as the Admiral's shuttle coasted into the hangar before touching firmly against the floor. She almost crowed with delight, thinking how the game was finally coming to a close, with all the pieces of the sad puzzle gathered together – all these fools she'd despised over the long, endless weeks here on Balmorra, from Pirrel with his idiotic ramblings and cruel twisting pinches to the utterly bamboozled fool of a hunter who followed after his stupid plans like a whiny dog that jumped whenever it saw a stick flying from an outstretched hand.

Gods, she hated the whole lot of them, even the silly twit of a cyborg female who followed the hunter around, Murghir thought, shooting the small woman a swift snort of disdain. She could see the two women standing there, nearby Pirrel. The hunter rolled her shoulders smoothly, obviously preparing for the impending confrontation.

"_Hah, as if I'd allow the fool woman to take the prize now_", she sniggered to herself. This hunt was all hers to win, dammit.

There was a loud clamoring of boots resounding from the shuttle's ramp, then, and Murghir turned to watch as Admiral Ivernus appeared. The human was older, but his hair was still a rich color of deep dark brown. She might even call him attractive, as she considered the swatch of course hair that extended into a thick beard down his jaw and chin. But he was human and his skin was pasty white. Murghir sat back on her heels as the man stalked towards them, marching with the stiff, proper stance so common to Imperial officer.

"_That's a man on a mission_," Murghir thought to herself. He certainly didn't seem happy to be there. His scent reeked of malice and threat, too. He was so not going to give her supposed master a reward today, she sensed. She would have pitied Pirrel. Except her backside was still smarting from the damn game of punishment the man had foisted on her the night before, fucking sadistic control freak of a human waste.

"This is it. At last. I'll get my just dues." Pirrel was murmuring to himself now. Murghir stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but she thought she heard a soft snorting sound come from where the hunter was standing. She would've glanced over but Pirrel started oozing unctuous praises just then, so that Murghir was left to choke back her gagging. "Admiral Ivernus! This is a singular honor. I can not tell you how pleased I am to wel …"

Apparently the admiral wasn't as patient as Murghir, because he interrupted Pirrel, his tone bitter and heavy with threat. "Shut up, you incompetent fool!" Pirrel was stammering now.

"I … I beg your pardon, sir. What …? What have I done?"

"It's what you failed to do! You're in charge of intelligence, here. Colonel Sartius' failures are due to you!"

"No, sir! I warned Colonel Sartius of the problems implicit in his strategies. But he wouldn't listen to me!"

"I told you to shut up, damn you! You're a worthless excuse for the uniform you're wearing! I'll not listen to another word. The only reason I've come here is to see you executed in person, and that's all I'm willing to do right now."

Pirrel stumbled back, his face going ashen and grey. He looked around frantically, desperately, and his gaze fell upon the bounty hunter still standing just behind him, watching the proceedings with an almost bored look on her face. Her arms were hanging loosely at her sides, even. She seemed to be utterly relaxed. "You! Bounty hunter! Tell him! Explain to the admiral what happened!"

The cyborg woman smiled then, a brief and twisted turn of her pouty lips. Her implants glimmered in the crimson light shining down from the overheads as she shrugged her shoulders. "Give me a moment, here, Pirrel. I'm really enjoying the show."

Admiral Ivernus clenched his fists, his eyes going wide and wild as he stared at the hunter. "You brought a bounty hunter, here? Are you insane? The Mandalorians want me dead, you absolute fool! They've even put my name on some damn list of theirs, set their hunters on a damn contest for my head." He glared at Pirrel. "You're an even greater waste than I had at first assumed! I'll flay you alive for this!"

The entire scene was so absurd, Murghir couldn't help but laugh, then. "As if thinking was one of Pirrel's strong suits. Trust me, it's not, admiral."

"What in the blazes is _that_?" Ivernus pointed a long, thick finger at the Cathar, then. But Pirrel suddenly stumbled all of sudden, his body practically tumbling sideways into Murghir hard enough to knock her solidly off her feet. She ended up with Pirrel sprawled on top of her in a sloppy pose fairly reminiscent of last night's escapades in his bedroom. Only this time he was bawling loudly, with real tears, even, seeping from his pale eyes.

Murghir growled angrily. She could heard the Admiral's soldiers shouting, then the resounding pinging of blaster bolts began sizzling through the air. That damn hunter had pushed the fool onto her, deliberately knocked her down. She pushed against Pirrel, snarling as his sobs against her ear drowned out whatever threat she might have made.

But then she froze, gazing up at her competitor as the woman placed the barrel of her blaster against her head. "How did you know, damn you?" Murghir growled out, just loud enough to be heard over Pirrel's weeping.

The hunter shrugged. "Does it matter? I played the game better than you, is all."

"Fuck you!"

But the bounty hunter smiled at her, shaking her head. "Sorry, nothing personal. You just came up short."

* * *

The monkey-lizard threw at piece of aluminium at her head as Kastiel entered the cargo hold through the airlock. She ducked smoothly, groaning as she raised her head to wearily regard the creature now bouncing back and forth in front of Two. The droid was whirring and twisting, trying to avoid stepping on the small animal. Kas groaned as a huge glob of snot suddenly blocked her left nostril and she raised a hand to rub against her implants.

"Does this mean you don't want this haunch of meat the café was tossing out earlier, Quinn-ie?" Kas held up a smelly leg-of-something-nasty, waving it towards the monkey-lizard. The beast stopped, staring, obviously tempted.

Behind her, Mako held her nose against the smell, whining thinly. "I'm so heading to the bridge. Please, for the love of my mother, whoever she was, do not bring that stuff anywhere near there!"

Kas would've laughed, but her head was starting to pound with yet another sinus headache. She shrugged, smiling at Mako, just before she tossed Quinn-ie the piece of rotting meat. Kastiel was grateful she couldn't smell anything, thanks to the snot clogging her nose, as she watched the monkey-lizard happily jumped onto the reeking mass off flesh. Mako was gagging, though, as she rushed up the metal stairs towards the upper levels of the ship.

Kastiel followed after Mako, although she veered off towards the small space allocated for a medical bay. More like medical _closet_, Kas thought, as she stumbled through the door. She blew her nose, then, gathering the mucous together in order to properly test the sample. She leaned her head back, blinking blearily up at the ceiling, feeling the engines thrusting under her feet as Mako began navigating the ship from its berth in the spaceport.

She rubbed the back of her neck, thinking, as the computer in the med bay worked to identify whatever virus was causing her current symptoms. She suspected Balmorra Flu. Still, identifying the strain would help her determine the best inoculation to use, too. She wiped against her face as snot dripped steadily down from her nose, grimacing at the viscous smear on the back of her hand.

Kas reached over to activate the nearby holotransmitter, tapping a finger against the med bay table as Christa's image blinked into shape in front of her. The woman's overly cheerful voice boomed out, of course. Kas winced, rubbing against her implant again. "Heya, sweet thing! Talk to me!"

"Ivernus is dead. Sending genetic confirmation now. Although I have to warn you. I'm running with a case of Balmorra Flu at the moment, so you may end up with viral samples in there, too."

Christa chuckled. "Yea, you're looking a mite peaked, girl. Could be the snot running down your face. That, or how you keep rubbing your face. Headache?"

Kas grunted. "Yea, a bad one. Made the fight extra hard, too. All I could feel was my head pounding like a damn drum, with all those blasters going off. Gods, that damn Pirrel fellow whined endlessly as he died, it was almost pathetic." Kastiel leaned in, then, her expression as serious as she could make it, considering how truly sick she was. "Christa, there was an issue…"

Christa frowned as she took in Kastiel's troubled expression. "What is it, girl? What's happened?"

"Christa, tell me the truth. These targets on the Hunt? They don't _know_ they're targets, right?"

"'Course not! The list is kept sealed tight! Mandoes are pretty touchy about their Hunts, trust me."

Kas shook her head, sniffing again. She heard the computer blurping as the strain of the Flu was finally identified. "Christa, Ivernus knew he was on the list."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"That's what he said. He said he was being targeted by the Mandalorians, had been listed in the Hunt."

"Kas, there's no way."

"All I'm telling you is what he said. Just … pass it along, maybe. I don't know. Seriously, my head is hurting. I'm going to have to get off this thing, get some rest. I'll contact you when we reach Nar Shadaa." Kastiel rubbed against her implant, running a finger up along her aching temple. She didn't notice Christa's worried expression, then. She only smiled as her handler chirped at her.

"You got a bed on that heap you call a ship, Kastiel Blade! I know, cause I have the ship schematics. Whatcha named that bad boy, by the way?"

Kas smiled wearily at her. "Hadn't thought about it, actually. But your suggestion seems the best one. 'Bad Boy' is as good as anything else. I'm certainly not going to be calling this thing 'she' anytime soon. It's definitely a masculine ship."

Christa laughed. "You'll have to get someone with balls on that thing sooner or later, girl. That damn monkey-lizard don't count!" She frowned then. "Be careful. I'll talk to you when you're on Nar Shadaa."

Kastiel watched as Christa's image faded. Just in time. She sneezed, loosing a stream of snot that saturated the holoterminal.

* * *

**For those of you used to my much quicker-than-in-recent-days updates, I wanted to make a brief note, here. After being out of work for nearly six months, I finally managed to find a decent job and I've started working. My family seriously needed the effort, so we're all much happier over here, trust me.**

**Also, I've been working steadily through another playthrough of the Agent story, so that I can flesh out Khyriel's story in line with Kastiel's. Kas is very very important to Khy's story, anyway. And I want to make sure I get it absolutely right.**

**Anyway, my updates have slowed down, I know. I promise I'll offer at least 2-3 updates a week. Thanks for sticking in there with me, in the meantime.**


	23. Chapter 22 -- Proving Himself

The shuttle rocked as its shields absorbed the blaster fire of nearby Republic fighters. Torian grunted as he lost his balance, tumbling to his knees against the back of the pilot's seat. The Imperial agent piloting the vessel cursed, jerking against the controls.

A static-laden voice emerged from the shuttle's commlink. "The Emperor's Fury has entered the space above Jabiim! They'll provide an escort for security. Do your best to avoid those fighters! And make for the hyperspace jump."

"What sort of escort do you think they're talking about, Torian?" Torian glanced the young warrior asking the question, saw the way he clenched his fingers around the hilt of his vibrosword determinedly, even if his face was obscured behind a beskar helmet.

"Not sure, Dev." Torian raised himself up, leaning against the wall of the shuttle so that he could look out the small viewport towards the raging firefight taking place outside. The shuttle canted sharply just then, so that he ended up nearly sprawled against the wall, forcing him to bite back an angry mutter. But he looked out the viewport again, curious.

Their shuttle, he realized, was actually weaving through a cluster of Republic starships, their turrets blazing streams of cannon fire. As if that wasn't enough to leave him gaping, there were dozens of fighters winging after them, with even more weapons firing.

Torian clenched his jaw angrily at the thought of dying in the belly of this measly shuttle, unable to make any sort of fight against his enemies. His fingers dug against the lip of the viewport as the shuttle shuddered again, the agents yelling at each other about the course they needed to take. That's when he noticed the other ship, an Imperial Fury-class starship, smoothly winging through the maelstrom of Republic fighters, using bolts and missiles to carve a path for their shuttle towards some nebulous safety.

"Who is that?" Torian shouted towards the agents, pointing towards the ship.

"A Sith, if you can believe it! Apprenticed to Darth Zash. Here's hoping her Force abilities make for enough chance to get us through this mess, huh?"

The other agent jerked at the controls again, and Torian grunted as he allowed himself to slide back down along the shuttle's walls, until he knelt next to Dev once again. The two warriors leaned against each other, waiting, balancing each other as the shuttle continued its choppy, jerky course through the fleet of Republic forces gathered outside.

Torian grinned when he saw the always-stubborn Jogo falling onto his backside. He elbowed Dev, gesturing towards their squadmate, there on the other side of the shuttle. But he pretended to be studying the viewport at the front of the shuttle when Jogo cursed and looked over at him, subtly rubbing his ass. So it was Dev who chuckled at Jogo, "Shoulda found a _vod_ you could lean on, Jogo."

"I'm better a warrior than to lean on any _aru'tal_."

"Of course. That's why you're falling down, because you're such a better warrior."

Jogo glared at them both. Torian ignored the man's hostility as he braced himself against Dev through the shuttle's shaking. Jogo's animosity, anyway, came from a desire to prove himself.

Prove himself to be better than Torian, at least. It was Torian's tenacious skill that had proved threatening to Jogo in the weeks since he'd joined Vorten Fett's squad, anyway. Torian patiently waited for the warrior's overt antagonism to fade. Eventually Jogo would prove himself worthy enough that needling at Torian would become meaningless, anyway. Until then, he'd focus on the squad's efforts to further the goals of the _Mando'ad_. He'd be still and patient. He'd be honorable.

Jogo would make of himself what he chose. It would change nothing of Torian.

"Torian? Your face is bleeding again."

Torian glanced at Dev, shrugged. "Yea, hurts, too. Worth it."

Dev shook his head, confused. Torian grunted, leaning over as he remembered the scarification ceremony he'd endured on the planet they just left. The Vunakunians used the ceremony to mark their castes, to prove their place in society. Such a determination - to show and display one's honor through bravery and blood - burned fiercely in Torian's own heart. So he'd asked to participate in the ceremony, even after the old men reminded him there was no place among their castes for him.

It didn't matter, he'd responded. It was the _Mando'ad_ that he belonged to, not anyone or anything of Vunak.

He marked his face to show bravery, to bleed in sacrifice, and to remember those brave ones who went before him. To remember her. He closed his eyes. He could feel the blood sliding down along his jaw before dripping onto the floor of the shuttle. And he remembered the blood that spilled from her face. Her eyes had glimmered and shined with tears that refused to fall, her pretty lips had quivered before she bit them to stop the shaking. He rubbed against the knots holding the cloth stained with her blood tied around his lower arm. He thumbed the bloodstains softly, just before raising the knotted cloth to his face and swiping his own blood away. He grunted when he saw the new, fresh blood laid over the old stains.

Then the agents let out a whoop. Torian turned his head, looking towards the pilots' chairs. The two men were cheering as the shuttle jumped into hyperspace, headed for a nearby moon where an Imperial ship was waiting to return them all to Dromund Kaas.

Jogo fell backwards, then, tumbling onto his ass again as the ship lurched forward into hyperspace, yelling curses. Torian couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

* * *

**Operation Silent Roar is one of the first space missions available to players of SWTOR. In the mission, Imperial agents have managed to obtain the details of Republic defense plans and are attempting to flee back to Imperial space. They're chased by a Republic fleet, that nearly manages to capture them in the space over the planet of Jabiim. The planet of Vunak is in the same system, by the way. A player character must successfully escort the shuttle carrying the agents to a safe place for them to jump to hyperspace in order to succeed in the mission.**


	24. Chapter 23 -- Determined to Win

Tarro Blood snarled angrily, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair in frustrated agitation. "How did she manage to pull it off? What is she, immortal?" He glared over at his companion, daring Sedyn Kyne to speak critically of yet another failed attempt at defeating this one particular hunter. "Everything else was falling into place, just the way we planned. And then _she_ came along! Where in the hell did this woman even come from?"

Sedyn Kyne shrugged his shoulders, watching as the image of the Mando warrior they'd befriended on Dromund Kaas finished extolling the most recent developments in the Hunt. Including the success of the hunter they'd long since determined to be their greatest threat. As expected, the warrior crowed, the hunter had killed the Imperial admiral, Ivernus. Not just Ivernus, either. She'd also managed to defeat his guards, one of his Intelligence officers, and, finally, the other hunter on Balmorra. All this, even after Ivernus received the warnings from Tarro beforehand.

Sedyn was thinking how lucky Tarro was that Balmorra wasn't the planet where he faced his first target, and never mind how much he'd complained about the boring farm fields so prevalent on Dantooine. Better to hunt down a former Imperial agent hiding among farmers, than to take on that bounty hunter in the middle of a war zone, Sedyn thought.

"Not sure where the woman hails from. Know she isn't _mando'ad_, is all. Maybe we should have asked Braden before we killed him. Or that Nikto." Sedyn cocked his head thoughtfully.

"I want to know. We may need to find some new wolves that can take her on, someone with a greater interest in killing her than a couple of inexperienced fools from Corellia. You'd think revenging their brother would've been important enough to die for, at least." Tarro snarled.

"Wonder how she talked them out of fighting. They were yelling against her when you told them she shot that Vexx gunslinger in the back."

Tarro stomped his booted feet as he paced back and forth in front of Sedyn. "I hate her, I really do. I want to see her head mounted on my wall!"

Kastiel Blade had something Tarro never did, even after considering his privileged background on Alderaan. None of his family's wealth had ever been able to provide him what she possessed in spades, simply even. He'd seen it when he watched her motions on Hutta, the way she flowed like water into combat, her dark head held high as her blasters blazed.

Kastiel was a natural hunter, as if she were born that way and just grew up. There was a rhythm to her movement on the battlefield, something innate to her. She simply fit the battle, until it belonged to her. Everyone else was simply a bump under her feet as she went along. Little more than minor inconveniences.

Tarro didn't want to become something she stepped on as she marched towards greatness. He wanted greatness for himself, wanted to be able to walk into a room the way he'd seen Hedarr Soongh approach his father years past, back in his childhood home, so distant to him now. He'd seen the whole place stop, all the people there turning to look at this hero - this bounty hunter, this Mandalorian warrior - as they whispered his name. They all watched him with bated breaths, excited and thrilled. And he wanted that, wanted to know people regarded him that way. He wanted it more than he wanted his father's lands and titles, more than he wanted the wealth that tantalized Sedyn, even.

This hunter, no matter how great she was, couldn't be allowed to rob him of the glory he'd ached for, panted after, and desired more than anything else for longer than he could really remember. Nothing would stop him from destroying her, nothing! No rule book, no huntmaster, no damn quaint Mandalorian code would stand in his way.

He clenched his fists as he contemplated all the ways he wanted to see her broken, destroyed, and ruined. It took him several moments to realize Sedyn was talking to him. "What?"

"Great interest is being shown in the hunter. Several warriors are already talking about courting her, even if she were to lose or forfeit the Hunt. Warriors from clans Farr and Varad have already spoken to the Mandalore. There's some rumor about warriors from Clan Ordo, as well, some saying one of their best _alor'ad_ has asked about her." Sedyn rasped with his nasally voice, looking again at the images he'd compiled of the woman.

"You're joking? She's torn to pieces! Look at her face!" Tarro pointed at the portfolio, rolling his eyes.

"Yes. Strong woman." Sedyn sighed. "Think of the battles she'd win, the children she'd make."

"Disgusting." Tarro almost spit, spinning around to glare at the galaxy map glimmering over the ship's console.

Sedyn shrugged. "I've heard rumors she's headed to Nar Shaddaa. The Hutts will keep her busy, there. And the target is a powerful one. If she manages to destroy him, she's sure to be tagged as one of the final contenders for the Hunt."

Tarro grunted. "I've already sent word to Tyresius Lokai. He was interested to learn all he could about the hunters coming for him."

"If it's discovered you have the list, that you're speaking of it to targets …" Sedyn was worried. He pulled at the thin beard covering the lower half of his face, thinking.

"That's why we have to be so careful who we speak to concerning the list, my friend. Don't worry. In the meantime, we try to find out more about where she's from, who her family is. Maybe we hunt them down, draw her away from the Hunt." Tarro smiled then. The smile was brief and small, a mere twist of his thin lips.

Sedyn shook his head. Would've been better if Tarro tantalized the hunter with his lean frame and pretty face, convinced her to forfeit the game to him for desire or the sweetness of romance. Instead, he sought to bludgeon her into defeat.

And the only one even more determined than Tarro to win the prize and be called Champion of the Great Hunt, Sedyn thought, was that lean, curvy woman winging her way towards Nar Shaddaa.


	25. Chapter 24 -- Following the Hunter

_She huddled down behind the crates and barrels, watching the trails of dirty water itching their way down the dank gray walls flanking the spot where she hid. The blood oozing from the hole in her side probably looked like that, she thought. Was it that dirty, all murky and dark with the soot and grime of this gods-forsaken world? Had Nar Shaddaa ruined her, too?_

_Her vision blurred, suddenly, as tears filled her eyes and spilled down her filth-coated cheeks, leaving clean tracks there that highlighted the olive tones of her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to give vent to the sobs trying to break free, thinking desperately of how important it was to stay quiet, hidden. Even now, she could hear the shouts and calls of her pursuers, whatever thugs the Hutts had hired to find her._

_She panted through her panic, thinking, seeing in her mind's eye the last sight of her friend, Jazz, the way his eyes went wide with shock when his throat blew apart from the force of the blaster shot. _

_The job had seemed so simple, so easy. Slice into bank's computers, find the name of the cretin stealing from the Hutt, and get paid – enough credits they'd go weeks without missing a meal, even. But the thief was one step ahead of them, using the holo to fabricate the appearance they themselves were stealing from the Hutt. And in far greater quantities than the original thief, even. By the time they realized what had happened, the Cartel was already chasing them down. _

_Now Jazz was dead. The rest of her small gang was missing. She was alone. All by herself. With no one to count on. No one to save her. No one to even care, to give a rat's sorry ass if she lived or died right here in this muck-infested alley in the dregs of Nar Shaddaa. _

_Mako cried silently, the tears aching their way down her face even as the blood continued to saturate her side. That's when she heard stumbling steps, interspersed with chuckles and feminine giggles. Frantically, she yanked at the garbage strewn on the ground, spilling from the crates alongside her, trying to pull it over her body and head, to obscure her even more. _

_"__What was that?" The male voice echoed off the walls, terrifying Mako even further. She didn't have strength enough even to fight, she thought, desperate, feeling lightheaded with blood loss._

_"__Who cares? Rats, probably." A woman responded, plaintively. She was trying to draw the man away, get his attention focused on other business. A whore, Mako thought, recognizing the cajoling motions the woman was making. "Come on, hunter. I have better ways to spend the night. You'll love me by the time we're through."_

_The man grunted, chuckling. "Think I read that story in some old ratty book once upon a time. You know the one - where the aging bounty hunter and the pretty whore find each other, fall in love, and fly off into the sunset to live happily ever after."_

_"__I'm worth it. Trust me."_

_"__We'll see. You said your place is through this alley, right? And who the hell keeps yelling?"_

_"__Damn thugs been looking for someone all day. Picture they're flashing around shows some skinny kid the Cartel wants. Come on. It's this way."_

_Mako bit her lip, holding back a whimper as the wound along her hip smarted and burned. She wanted to press against it, stop the bleeding. But she was so afraid. She trembled, shook, so that the sweat making her hair damp slid down along her neck. _

_And that's when the whore stepped on her, screamed. _

_Mako yelped shrilly before reaching helplessly towards her side, holding the wound desperately as burning peals of pain ripped through her. She was in so much agony she barely noticed the hands pulling at her, pushing aside her own small fingers to expose the blood pooling against her cupped hand. The man was making crooning noises, trying to calm her._

_"__That's her! That's the kid the Cartel is hunting for!"_

_"__No shit! Why don't you shut up a moment?"_

_"__Hey!"_

_"__Where's your place?"_

_"__You are so not bringing that piece of filth into my home, dammit! No way, don't look at me like that! You paid me for a good time, not for the Cartel to come looking for my damn head anytime soon! They want her! Do yourself a favor and give her to them, fast."_

_Mako's eyes shimmered with new tears as she gazed sorrowfully up into the lean and wrinkled visage of a male human, his golden-toned skin gleaming in the red and gold lights of the cityscape above his bald head. She loosed a pitiful whimper, looking down to see the man was holding a stim against her bleeding hip. She grunted as the stim released, the kolto soothing the dreadful pain for just a moment. She heard the whore snarling._

_"__Waste of time. The Hutts will slowly and steadily rip her into little pieces. Stop bothering with this. Just leave her."_

_Mako glanced over, saw the whore, her green skin and tattooed face marking her a Mirialan. She looked back at the man when he snorted. "And here I thought you were intent on getting me to love you, too. Might as well just beat it out of here. No need for you to stick around."_

_"__Are you joking? You can't even screw her with all that blood all over her!"_

_Mako watched as the man's face went hard and cold. He glared at the whore. "Go. Away."_

_"__Whatever. You're such a fool. They'll kill you, hunter. And it won't be easy."_

_He shrugged, waving at the whore as she scrambled into the darkness towards the end of the alley. Then he sighed, looking down at Mako's hip once again. "Not sure you're going to be in much shape to walk far, girl. Doesn't change the fact you're going to have to. Cause my carrying you will prove a red flag to every damn piece of trash running along the streets here looking for you."_

_Mako bit her lip, considering. She had no memory of anything but Nar Shaddaa. This was the only sad excuse for a home she'd ever known, in fact. Not that there was anything tying her to the place either, she thought, remembering the sad shock that filled Jazz' eyes as he died. She heard a yelling cry from somewhere nearby, one of the thugs calling out his location. And she decided to fight, to live._

_Braden's lips twisted into a hard, cold smile as the little cyborg pushed herself to her feet. He glanced back towards the opening of the alley, even as he reached for his jacket and pulled it loose from his shoulders. He tucked the garment around the little female, watching it drape low to cover her bloody clothes before pulling the hood up to cover her dark head. He grunted, satisfied as even the twinkle of her implants disappeared from sight._

_"__Well, come on then. Let's get out of here."_

_She looked up at him, her eyes dull with pain and fatigue. "Why?"_

_He grunted. "You remind me of someone. She's a fighter, too."_

_Mako nodded then. "Okay, then. I'm Mako."_

_"__Call me Braden, Mako. But do it as we're walking along. We can't stay here."_

_Can't stay, she thought. She watched as he turned to amble in supposed nonchalance towards the front of the alley, pretending, putting on a show for the thugs watching for her. She thought over the course of her life, at all she'd done, the things she'd seen. She thought of opportunities lost, credits stolen, lives taken away. Then she lifted her chin. And she followed the bounty hunter._


	26. Chapter 25 -- Buying Presents

Kastiel used to think the cacophony of sound coming through her implants was a painful burden. She'd never imagined sight could prove just as debilitating. She cocked her head thoughtfully as she considered the materials she'd need to gather before producing new supplies of her regular migraine medications.

She'd have to suffer the glaring blinking monstrosity of lights all around the planet of Nar Shaddaa in the meantime. Her head was pounding as she looked for Mako, saw the small cyborg standing near a vendor who's table was propped against a wall in a dirty corner of the promenade. She ambled closer, listening as the two argued over the scavenged materials the vendor – a pale green-skinned Rodian – had gathered together.

Mako was pointing down at a shiny piece of metal. To Kastiel, it looked like nothing more spectacular than a box. Heck, there wasn't even some pretty markings on the thing. Kas wondered what it might contain.

"Hah! Don't even try to fool me! I know this score! That's a data library, probably belongs to one of the Hutts here on planet. If they find you with it …" Mako was sneering at the Rodian. He gibbered back at her.

"You're threatening me! I'm telling you, it's nothing more than a bit of trash I found in a bin, down on one of the lower levels of the Industrial sector. Nothing more than someone's shopping list, probably!"

"Good! Then you can let go of it for twenty credits!"

"What it contains is immaterial, however. The fact remains it can contain whatever data you wish to store in it. That makes its worth far greater. I won't take less than five hundred credits!"

"Thief! Seventy-five, and not one credit more!"

Kastiel stepped up next to Mako, staring down at the item in question. She didn't say anything to Mako as she handed the Rodian the sum he was practically bouncing up and down over. Mako snarled as the Rodian laughed and began wrapping the data library into bright, shiny paper. Kastiel frowned as she noted the reflection of the overhead lights against the paper, wearily rubbing her forehead. Mako frowned, then.

"Headache?"

Kastiel nodded, accepting the package from the vendor. She smiled large at the Rodian, before turning and bowing low over the wrapped package clutched in her hands. "A gift, Mako! From the very bottom of my heart! Please accept this humble offering of my affection!"

Mako laughed at her. "You're insane, you know that?"

Kastiel gasped. "Does that mean you're rejecting this fine piece of artistic wrapping? This glorious paper! All concealing a most marvelous piece of technology? Truly?"

"Gods, stop! I won't be able to stop laughing!" Mako giggled as she took the article from Kas, smoothly tucking it into her pack. She flipped a jaunty and rather crude gesture towards the Rodian, before turning to follow the bounty hunter off the lower Promenade towards the taxi. "You do realize you have to at least pretend to be a big, bad, mean bounty hunter, right?"

Kas snorted. "As long as I have big, bad, mean blasters, I think my reputation is safe enough."

"Is that why you wiggled your hips at that Republic trooper over there?"

"The Cathar? He actually bared his fangs at me! I thought it important he realize I wasn't going to take his shit seriously."

"Maybe he was flirting, not threatening."

Kastiel shrugged. "Like I'd be interested in stroking his furry backside, even if that's what it was. And it wasn't. Cathar and hunters don't go hand in hand, Mako. You know that. I think Cathar see every hunter as a would-be Mando, and they hate Mandoes. Not surprisingly."

"Maybe. But their world's long since recovered, too. They shouldn't hold a grudge."

"I would, if I were them. Damn, their entire world was ruined, their people killed or enslaved. No reason they wouldn't remain a tad bit upset, even today."

Mako was quiet as they walked along, grateful to be thinking of anything other than the fact they were on Nar Shaddaa. She hated Nar Shaddaa. She could almost feel the stench of the planet eeking its way into her pores once again. She'd be beyond grateful when they were done here.

"Well, it's not like you're actually a Mandalorian, either."

"Not yet."

Mako glanced at Kastiel. "Is that what you want? To be a Mando?"

Kastiel stopped, turning to face her small companion. Her dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face for just a moment. Her brown eyes were shadowed with painful memories. But she spoke firmly when she responded. "Mandoes saved me once. They were tough, strong. They destroyed the sons of bitches who killed my mother, and they did it without even breaking a sweat. Then they picked me up and carried me miles when others would've left me to die."

Kas sighed. "Yea, Mako. I want that, to be a part of that, to belong to it. I want it, so that my enemies will stop to think twice before threatening me ever again."

They began walking again, Mako almost trotting alongside her more long-legged friend. Neither one of them said much for several moments. It didn't take long, though, and Kas smiled as Mako finally broke the silence.

"Well, that just means we need to keep busting asses, huh?"

"Plan's been working out pretty well so far, yea."


	27. Chapter 26 -- The Enemy of my Enemy

Anuli rubbed his stomach as it twisted and knotted painfully, the hunger cramps pulling viciously at his overly thin frame. Not that he wasn't accustomed to such discomfort.

His prostitute mother had barely expelled him into the dank environs of Nar Shaddaa before she was done with him. It was one of the other whores who had taken some small pity on his pitifully small, squalling self. Amazingly enough, she'd actually carried him to one of the few charity houses the Hutts permitted to persist in the low levels of Nar Shaddaa. Still, it's not like he ever had enough to eat.

Charity only went so far, anyway, especially when it came to this crap-hole of a world. It was a lesson he'd learned fast, and held true to ever since the first time he'd had another one of the orphans in the house snatch away his small bit of breakfast. That, and how to make do with very little to eat, of course.

Not that Gele'ren really mistreated him, either. He certainly didn't withhold food, anyway. His overly large twi'lek frame meant he had a personal abhorrence for hunger. But, even more, he saw Anuli as a rather valuable commodity, what with his skills as a cybernetic slicer well established by the time he was twelve years old and outgrown the pickpocket scams common on the Promenade.

But it was common for Anuli to forget to eat, whenever he was sunk deep in the guts of whatever computer system Gele'ren asked him to root around inside of. Tracking the trader's dispute with Halidrell Setsyn had monopolized Anuli's attention lately, enough that when he raised his head wearily above his monitors earlier today, he realized two days had passed without him shoveling a bit of food down his throat.

He meandered through the club's kitchen as he made his way to Gele'ren's office, smoothly snatching up a hot sandwich from a plate left steaming at the table before being served to whatever customer was waiting for it out front. The cook yelled at him as he scooted out the door, the gravy from the meat in the sandwich already spilling down his lean chin. He laughed and waved back at the man, then concentrated on finishing the bit of food as he walked along.

Anuli could hear Gele'ren yelling as he approached the hallway leading towards the office, and he looked up in time to see the door closing behind … someone. He frowned, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich.

Gele'ren was not in the mood for any sort of business past getting Halidrell Setsyn out of his thick head tails, he knew. Hence the yelling. He'd watched the muscle Gele'ren sent to antagonize the woman stumble back into the club clutching their own shattered bones and dragging along several bleeding bodies that would never get up again. Their pitiful whimpers about the dozen Sith who'd battled them in Setsyn's shop proved little more than sorry entertainment, especially when he managed to observe video from the commlinks of one of the dead men that showed one single lone Sith going at them.

One Sith. A small one. And a female, to boot. Anuli had been amused at the men's unwillingness to admit they'd been solidly beaten by a little woman with pretty black hair. Although her big red glowing stick was pretty fierce-looking, he had to admit. That, or how that woman swung it, rather.

Anuli didn't know much about Sith, past the stories he'd considered from the thugs, brutes, thieves and slaves that made up his every day world. It was just enough for Anuli to decide that Sith were terribly dark creatures best avoided.

Setsyn may be stupid enough to involve herself in some sort of Sith dispute. He was sure she'd find herself sad and destroyed before it was through. That's all that came of mucking around in Sith business, he thought. He was sure Gele'ren would agree with him, too. He could yell at his broken men all he wanted. But they'd still end up waiting for Setsyn to finally die an ignoble death under the boots of her real masters. All they needed was patience.

He pushed open the doors with one small hand, rubbing the gravy off his chin as he entered the room. The yelling had stopped. Anuli could see Gele'ren across the office, frowning as he talked heatedly to an armored woman standing nonchalantly in front of him, her back to the door. The woman's companion glanced back at sound of the door opening, but Anuli lost sight of them when one of Gele'ren's thugs pushed him aside to stumble towards the door.

"Move it, kid. First Sith. Now it's the Eidolon. This is crazy."

Anuli gaped, watching as the men rushed out of the room as fast as their whipped bodies allowed them to move. Then he turned back, carefully straining to hear what Gele'ren was talking about. He moved closer, saw Gele'ren glance over and see him. The twi'lek waved a chubby hand towards him, motioning him forward.

"…But then, at the top of his game, the Eidolon announces he's quitting the assassination business. He's going to open up his own security company, he says. Next thing you know, half the companies, here, are clients of damn Eidolon Security! And they're not paying the Hutts anymore, either. Fucking crazy, I'm telling you."

Anuli grunted as he stepped close enough. "Gere'len, I've been dealing with that business in the Red Light sector …"

"Anuli?"

He felt the shock of it when he finally looked and saw her. It was Mako he'd followed when he left the charity house, her example he emulated when he accepted his first implants. She'd taught him more than anyone else how to manipulate a computer system - how to tease it to get it do as he wanted, how to make it spit out whatever information it was designed to hide. She'd been his best and sweetest friend, a single bright light in a very scary world. Before she was gone.

"Mako? But …? You're dead! I thought you were dead! Those Rhodian brothers caught you, they said so!"

Mako nodded back at him, her eyes dim and shadowed with pained memories. "They killed Jazz. Remember him? And I took a shot in the hip. I hid. But a hunter found me. You'd think he would've done off with me. Except he saved me, Anuli! He was … a good friend. And I'm still following hunters today, go figure."

Mako waved a hand to take in the woman standing silently next to her, watching them. Anuli frowned as he considered her.

She was obviously a hunter. Her armor stretched across her torso and legs, smoothly encasing her curves behind tough durasteel. She watched them with large brown eyes that gleamed over an arching slash of cybernetics that looped up along her cheekbones towards her ears. Her hair was dark, black. Ebony would perhaps be a better word. It skittered against her shoulders and fell forward alongside her pale, creamy-fleshed face. But he could still see scars there, too. They stretched across the left side of her face and slashed down along her neck.

But she was beautiful. The scars and implants just made her look that much more deadly, he thought. Or maybe that was the blasters perched on each one of her hips. Only the most skilled hunters could easily wield two blasters at once. It hinted at a terrible sort of precision and capability that Anuli, for one, wasn't willing to test.

"So you two know each other, Mako?" The hunter asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Oh, yea. We grew up together, mostly on the streets. He's like a little brother."

The hunter nodded.

"Hey, I'm not little!" Anuli rocked back on the heels of his feet, feeling insulted all of a sudden.

The hunter smiled, her dark eyes laughing at him. "Obviously."

Gele'ren snorted. "Yea, right. Look this is all real touching. I'll even cry into my pillow tonight thinking of it. But can we break up the reunion to get back to business right now? You said you were gonna kill the Eidolon."

"The Eidolon? Mako, that's crazy. I mean, I've heard of crazier. But that's real crazy!" Anuli stammered.

It was the hunter who replied, shrugging. "I have a job to do. And I'm good at my work."

"Yea. Well, so's the Eidolon. He was a professinal assassin for most of his life. A damn good one." Gere'len snorted again. "You'll have to draw him out of his hidey hole first. Which wouldn't be so bad a thing to watch, mind you. Seriously, though, if you hurt his company, blow up some of his clients, or something – well, then, he'll come looking for you." The twi'lek leaned his pudgy self forward. "If you're as good as you say, that won't be a problem."

The hunter smirked. "Who's his best client?"


	28. Chapter 27 -- Get off me!

Mako pushed the plate away. "I'm not going to eat anything you ordered, Kas!"

"Coward."

"When it comes to the food you like? Oh, yea, that's so me. Scared shitless."

Kastiel snorted as she used the last bit of soaked mustafarian toast on her plate to shovel bits of stew into her mouth. "It's just chuba stew, Mako. Boring, even. There's no kick to it at all."

"Right. Whatever." Mako shook her head as she nibbled on some toast. "Besides Anuli snatched me a sandwich earlier tonight. He's good about not burning my mouth to cinders with spices."

Kas tossed a bit of chuba meat down towards her monkey-lizard, cooing at the beast. Quinn-ie chirped back at her. "Anuli is protective of you, huh? Careful, Mako! You're not going to be able to get rid of him if you let him feed you!"

"Anuli? That's so disgusting! He's like my little brother," Mako shuddered. But Kas only laughed. Mako shook her head at the hunter. She waited as Kas resumed eating, chewing her lip. "Speaking of Anuli …"

Kastiel looked over at Mako, raising a dark eyebrow questioningly. Mako sighed, shrugging slightly as she glanced away. She had been aching to pose the possibility to Kastiel throughout the day, even as the bounty hunter methodically trashed the Republic offices and storage facilities that Eidolon Security supposedly kept safe. The inferno they'd left behind was spectacular, Mako thought. The scampering motions of the civilian personnel running from the place had proven rather entertaining, too.

"What about Anuli?"

Mako gulped. She'd used her knowledge of the Trandoshan target on Hutta when she'd convinced Kastiel to get her off the planet. She had nothing to offer this time around. Still, she liked to think Kas had become something of a friend, too. Maybe if she agreed to eat some of her food … she eyed the chuba stew on the plate she'd pushed away, cringing.

"Mako?"

Mako sighed. "There's no reason for you to agree, actually. But …" The little cyborg grimaced, turning a pleading gaze towards Kastiel. "Do you think we can take Anuli with us when we leave Nar Shaddaa?"

Kas raised her eyebrows in something like surprise, sitting back against the bench seat where they were perched as she finished chewing her food. She canted her head, thoughtful. "We can't save everyone, Mako, you know that. Still, I don't see why your little boyfriend can't tag along, either."

Mako felt such a tremendous sense of relief that she almost didn't notice Kastiel's joke. She actually guffawed a happy sound, even. "He's not my boyfriend, dammit! But … thank you!"

Kastiel grinned as Mako almost danced in her seat.

"What? Hey! Give that back, you … rat thing!"

The two women spun around. They were just in time to see Quinn-ie, leaping onto the head of an armored man, who proceeded to spin out of his seat trying to yank the monkey-lizard loose from the grip it had on his dark, braided hair. The man began a wild sort of dance, yelping as Quinn-ie dug the claws of one paw into the soft flesh of his scalp. Kas could just make out the prize the monkey-lizard was waving around with his other paw – a bit of nerf beef yanked from the middle of the man's sandwich, it looked like.

Kastiel leaned back against the counter where the remains of her meal still rested, chuckling as she watched the spectacle. The crowd pressing into the tiny eatery there on the lower Promenade cheered and howled as the monkey-lizard rode the human's head, holding tight to the tendrils of his hair, looking like a crazed nerfherder riding a bull as the man jumped and leaped in circles around his chair. She leaned over, smirking, "Mako, please tell me you're recording this."

Mako laughed. "You're joking, right? You know me!"

Kas grinned at her. Then she turned around, slowly, before finally whistling sharply. "Quinn-ie! Knock it off!" She laughed as the crowd groaned to see the monkey-lizard leaping to the ground, smoothly avoiding the stomping boots of the man he'd been happily tormenting. The beast trotted towards her, wrapping itself around her leg so that she was able to pat the scruffy fur along the top of its little head.

"Damn you, you monster! Come back here and meet Flashy! You'll get along so well, trust me!" The human shook his head, so that his brown hair stood on end. He was holding a lean blaster against his side, spinning around trying to find Quinn-ie. He looked towards the corner where Kas and Mako were standing, with the monkey-lizard holding onto the bounty hunter's knee. He pointed. "There it is!"

Kastiel shook her head, watching the man carefully as he stomped over towards them. She didn't get the chance to warn him against harming her pet, though. Because he stopped when a new voice broke through the crowd's exclamations. "Corso! Honestly, is a piece of beef really worth all this effort? Although if you can do it again, that would be great! I didn't really get the chance to get it on vid, dammit!"

The man - Corso? – snarled towards the speaker. "Not funny, captain! I'm bleeding, here!"

Kastiel shrugged. "I'll fix your head quick enough, if you'll just stop and calm down. And don't shoot my monkey-lizard! Someone paid me good money to get him off Balmorra!"

"Paid you? What, it tortured someone else?"

Kas nodded. "Indeed. Not sure that Imperial is ever going to forgive him for it, either."

"An Imperial? Well." Corso looked down at Quinn-ie, scowling. "Did it at least rip his hair out, too?"

"You have plenty of hair left, Corso. Don't know what you're so worried about. It's longer than mine!" Corso's captain was smiling as he stepped forward, reaching out to yank against Corso's brown braids. Mako clucked her tongue as she stepped closer, not noticing how Kastiel had frozen in place, staring at the captain.

"Let me see. Think he got you there, right alongside your temple. I can see a gouge mark." Corso stared at Mako as she reached out to wipe a small olive-skinned hand against his forehead, fingering the small, bloody wound there. He gawped, sliding his gaze down her slim frame, breathing roughly. Then he swallowed, shooting a triumphant look at his captain.

"Told you so! Thing almost tore me apart!"

The young captain rolled his eyes. "Yea, right, Corso. My heart is bleeding, too. Seriously. Can't you tell?" He grunted, though, when Kastiel suddenly gripped the collar of his blue jacket, yanking his head around so that she could regard him better, her gaze moving over his features quickly. She snarled at him.

"Who are you?"

"Let go of me!"

"I asked you a question!"

"And I told you to let go of me!"

Mako stared, stunned. Corso raised his eyebrows, as he watched the tough-looking cyborg woman push and pull against his captain, holding him firmly in place as she continued to examine him. "You think you're going to win this little game, captain?"

"Dammit, Corso! Get her off me!"

"Hey, I distinctly remember you laughing when that rodent thing was on my head ripping me apart."

"Did not!"

"I saw you!"

The captain snorted at him angrily. Then he froze, surprised, when Kastiel suddenly leaned closer and asked him, quietly. "Gaib? Gaibriel?" They blinked at each other, both of them leaning so close their dark heads almost appeared to touch. He had blue-gray eyes, like a stormy-looking sky, and she watched as he looked at her, searchingly. He finally raised one hand, smoothing his fingers against the side of her face, pushing her hair back.

"Kastiel? I thought … But you died!"

Then Kas glanced to her side, taking in the presence of the eatery's customers crowding them, some of them looking towards their crazy little group. Mako stepped closer to the pair, whispering. "Kas? Is he important? Like the other one?" The bounty hunter nodded. Then she yanked the captain hard, pulling him towards the door and ignoring his exclaiming calls against being manhandled, with Mako following along behind them.

Corso trotted after the group. But he snarled when the monkey-lizard jumped up onto his back and held on. "Oh, hell no! Get off!" The chittering laughter of the beast enraged the soldier. Corso decided to ignore him. At least, in favor of retrieving his captain from what appeared to be maddened marauders of some kind. Then he'd deal with their brutal little fiend, too.

* * *

**Some notes, here:**

**For those who read through my warrior story, you know that I wasn't sure whether to make my smuggler a guy or a gal. So I offered it up to a vote, there at the close of my warrior tale. In the end, the votes came down to one slim voice, just about three weeks ago, when someone PM'ed me asking that the smuggler be a guy. **

**Have no worries, those of you worried about Corso! He'll be fine in the end! And, no. Loneliness is so not a part of HIS future. I adore the Farmboy too much for that.**

**To me, the smuggler is always, always about humor and amusement. The smuggler story is just plain FUN, and I love it! So I couldn't introduce the character, here, without interjecting a bit of hilarity. Gaibriel, though, like all my Legacy characters, has hidden depths. I love him utterly, of course. So look forward to getting to know him better. (He's my Main, in end-game, btw)**

**You might have also noted a running theme with my character names. I use themes to keep track of my characters, on both the servers I have legacies on. The one I'm describing, here - the one I love so much - uses angel names, of course. Kastiel and Gaibriel are obvious. Lusiel (pronounced loo-shel) was a play on the name Lucifer, btw. Khyriel (angel of confusion, unbalance - will show how to change for the better) is a name I looked up and liked the sound of, too.**

**Finally, Chuba Stew was a type of food favored by Hutts. Chubas were small lizard-creatures, btw. Think Episode 1, where Jar-Jar tried grabbing a lizard thing hanging from a stick in the market place on Tattooine. That's the food I described, above.**

**Anyway, don't hesitate to ask questions of me at any point. I enjoy all your PM's and faves and reviews, trust me!**


	29. Chapter 28 -- It's off to work we go!

_It had no name when it approached the clans and asked that it might join the Hunt. It was actually obsolete, in fact. Little more than a construction droid long since fallen out of use. But it adamantly proclaimed itself capable and honorable. And the Huntmaster ultimately accepted the droid's petition, allowing the machine to compete. When the droid succeeded, though - taking every target and defeating every one of its rivals - well, it was then that questions about what it meant, that a droid might be called the Grand Champion, that's when the questions came fast and hard. _

_It was a Mandalorian named Ressian Trana, though, who went far enough as to denounce the droid's honor. He yelled the insult, in fact, shouting, "The only good a droid serves is for melting down into blades or fodder. They possess no honor, can show no honor! And there is no honor in saying different!" It was then that the droid responded at last, sending a quick kick of its spindly mechanical leg at the Mando. Ressian Trana flew back from the force of the blow - flying through the plated glass of a nearby window, where he tumbled fifteen stories to his death._

_To his credit, Ressian Trana didn't scream as he died. And no one else among the gathered Mandalorian warriors ever again questioned the Grand Champion's honor. That's how the Defenestrator earned not only his title. But his name._

* * *

"So tell me the truth, Kas. How many brothers do you have scattered around the galaxy?" Mako prodded, grinning when the bounty hunter glanced back at her over her shoulder. They were moving steadily through one of the more dangerous sections of Nar Shaddaa. Dark, silent warehouses rose above their heads on either side of the way. Mako concentrated more on the conversation than the bodies of the pitiful gang members who litered their path.

"I sincerely hope you're not asking out of some inner desire to get to really know either one of them, Mako."

"So it's two, then, huh? Two brothers?"

Kastiel grumbled. "Not like we can go around announcing it. Which is why I wish you'd drop it."

Mako chuckled softly. "Yea, not sure how the Mandalorians would feel knowing that your brother basically works for the Republic."

Kas stopped, crossing her arms over her chest so she could roll her eyes. "He doesn't bear them any real loyalty. Anymore than I'm really loyal to the Empire."

"Sure thing. But you have to admit, it's not like the Empire would welcome him with open arms, either. And you'd probably be arrested if you went to Republic space, too."

"Debatable." Kas snorted as she resumed her search for the supposedly abandoned warehouse that Anuli had described to them earlier.

Mako's description of Ughnaut contestants in the last Hunt had sparked enough of her interest she'd opted to search out the warehouse that had been receiving large shipments of expensive machinery. She kept wondering if she was walking into the den of another Defenstrator, actually. That droid had proven the deadly capabilities of such a contestant in the Hunt, anyway. It was important that Kas prevent the Ughnauts from creating another one of them. Before it shot her face off, would be best.

"What I can't understand is how one of your brothers ends up working for Imperial Intelligence – and those guys are schizos, by the way – and the other one regularly docks his spiffy freighter in Coruscant's spaceport."

"Khyriel's mother wasn't mine." Kas pointed to her implants. "It's thanks to her I have these. And that Gaibriel ended up in a freighter on the other side of the galaxy."

"Are you serious?" Mako shook her head. "I figured my own family was whacked. I mean, what else can you say about people who put a computer in their kid's head. But that's crazy."

Kas shrugged. "Remember that admiral, back on Dromund Kaas? You work with the Empire you have, not the one you wish you had." Kastiel stopped again, her dark head canted thoughtfully. "My father was an Imperial hero, Mako. He'd come visit us whenever he could, still dressed up all fancy in that uniform of his and he'd sing praises to the Empire he fought for." She sighed. "And then he'd say to us, 'Your future isn't with the Empire. That's my fault, don't ever blame yourselves. But spend your dreams in some other world, far away from Dromund Kaas. Please."

Mako shook her head. "He was selfish."

"Maybe. Still. I miss him."

Mako watched as Kastiel glanced around the corner of a building, looking towards the doorway leading into the warehouse Anuli had mentioned was receiving deliveries out of hand for the local area. Kas grunted as she watched lights flickering through the brief openings in the building that counted for windows.

"Don't imagine your father thought his son's future would've been smuggling goods for the Republic."

Kastiel's tone was sullen. "My father was killed still wondering if Gaibriel had even survived the attack that won me my lost hearing and ripped up face. Not sure he would've given a rat's ass if Gaib had ended up wearing a Republic uniform, waving one of their stupid flags, and chanting about freedom, so long as he'd lived. Gaibriel was strong enough, at least. Can't think there are too many who would've made it through what he described to me last night." Then she glanced back at Mako, frowning. "You like Gaibriel? He seemed friendly enough."

Mako shook her head. "Friendly with all the women we passed, too. Not sure he liked the way you were pulling him around by his collar, though. Sort of ruined his overall demeanor, don't you think?"

"He's my little brother. Best he remember that makes me the one in charge."

"Yea. I see how that might work out."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Me? With you? Nah!"

Kas chuckled.

"Besides. I don't think I could have any sort of thing with a brother of yours. That's just … weird for some reason."

"Yea, you seemed a bit more interested in that other one. Corso. Bonus, too, cause Quinnie liked him."

Mako bit her lip, looking away. "Corso was nice enough, at least."

"Oh, yea. Nice. He couldn't even threaten us without tipping his chin respectfully and saying, 'Ma'am', every time he looked our way."

"We could all do with a little more politeness and civility around here." Mako chewed on her lip, thinking about the mercenary soldier running along with Kastiel's incorrigible smuggler brother. Corso had been sweet, going so far as to catch her when she stumbled in her haste to keep up with Kastiel as she was pulling Gaibriel along. The gesture had surprised the little cyborg. She'd found herself watching him more than she really paid notice to Kastiel and Gaibriel in the hours they'd all spent hunkered over a private table in a nearby cantina.

"Civility. Sure." Mako jerked her attention back to Kastiel, who was methodically checking over the blaster she'd yanked loose from its holster. Kas thumbed the weapon's settings and eyed its power pack carefully. Then she held the thing up, looking down the length of its barrel. Mako scowled when Kas shot her a twisted grin.

"You're awful." Mako snorted.

"Hey, if it's civility you're looking for, it ain't here … Guess you really do need a Republic-loving soldier to call your own." Kastiel shrugged, smirking. Then she ducked around the corner. Mako sighed as she followed her.

* * *

Kastiel bowed her head slightly, greeting the porcine Ugnaught leader. She recognized the thing's squeels, as it snorted commands to its fellows who were working over a pile of mechanical parts all gathered together into a rather sophisticated-looking pile of machinery. It was too high-pitched a language for her to reproduce. She ranked it right up there with Shyriiwook in difficulty. Although the Wookie language was far more pleasant sounding than Ughnaught.

Still, it wasn't overly hard to greet the thing cordially. She murmured towards Mako, "See? Civility!" Mako rolled her eyes back at her. The Ugnaught actually started jumping up and down, then, squeeling, "Rival! You are the rival! Oh, no! But we're not ready! Go away!"

Kastiel looked over at the Ugnaught's ... pile. "If that's supposed to be a droid, you're screwed. Because I came earlier than you were planning."

One of the smaller Ugnaughts snorted an angry sound, "But we worked so hard! _You_ quit the Big Hunt!"

Kas shrugged. "I can always kill you instead."

The Ugnaught leader waved one of its pudgy hands, then. "No, big hunter is right. Mark Two not finished. She get drop on us. She big hunter. We leave Big Hunt. Maybe ... Shadow Death will kill her." Kastiel watched the dwarfen pig-like creatures snuffle, tearful it seemed, as they filed in a sad group through the nearby door of the warehouse. Mako followed after them, making sure they actually left, shaking her head. She looked back at Kas as she stood in the doorway.

"I recorded that entire confrontation. I'm pretty sure that's Great Hunt history. Because I've never even heard of something like this."


	30. Chapter 29 -- Too Late

Kastiel could hear Mako, crying, saw her bent over the shattered form. But her mind was spinning blankly, like a holorecording, zipping through the steps and sequence of events since arriving on the Hutt-controlled world. She thought, considered, dismissed, disregarded every motion she'd made – then she started the exercise all over again. And again.

Anuli had been crying. "_He's here! Mako, help me! I can't get away! Help me!_" He'd sobbed, then, begging someone Kas couldn't see. "_Don't! Get away from me! Please! No! Stop!_"

She stared down at him now, her lips pursed and her jaw clenched. Anuli's neck was bent at a strange angle, as his eyes stared sightlessly, lifelessly. Blood had pooled and spilled from his mouth, splattered against his chin as he'd coughed, trying desperately to breathe. His implants had been ripped from his face, leaving his nose and cheekbones fractured and misshapen. He'd been afraid. He'd cried. And they'd tormented and abused him before finally breaking his neck.

Kastiel clenched her fingers into fists. She looked over at Gele'ren. His chubby frame was suspended against the wall behind the table where they'd sat down to discuss their plans to expose Eidolon Security's client information on the holonet. She stared at the stumped remains of his lekku. The things had been hacked off, hard, just before he was garroted and left to hang there on the wall in garish display.

Gele'ren had been so thrilled, so excited. "_See, if I get rid of the Eidolon, the Cartel makes me a full fledged boss with my own clan! And all we got to do is take out one little assassin and his pet corporation. What a fraggin' deal, huh?_" He'd chuckled, his thick lekku shaking with mirth.

One little assassin. Such a straightforward job. Take the codes from the Bith slicer, let Anuli use the codes to access the Eidolon's information, then upload it to the holonet, and wait for the Eidolon to come after Kas. So easy. So simple.

Except the killer didn't come after Kastiel.

He didn't strike against her.

He'd hurt someone she'd promised to save, rather.

She couldn't save him!

"_Get out of there, Anuli! Run!_" But he'd only screamed, instead.

Kastiel could huffed a hard breath, motioning towards Mako. She couldn't let anything happen to Mako. She had to protect her. "Careful. This could be a trap."

The Bith. Kastiel cocked her head, thinking fast. Anuli called him Zee, said his code was beautiful. "_Like a symphony! The math sings!_" The Eidolon had ripped apart Anuli's appreciation for such music, tearing his face to pieces. Kas shook her head.

Zee had been scared, as well. He'd stared down the barrel of her blaster, panting wetly in fear as his big, round black bug-like eyes bulged. He'd argued with her. Very mathematically, too. "_It wouldn't be logical to risk meeting with the Eidolon to tell him you have the codes, would it? I'll run away, hide! You have no need to kill me, please!_" He'd lied to her. She'd make him pay for that - for giving them up, for allowing someone, anyone to target and harm Anuli.

Logically. Like a math solution, indeed. Stab me or mine in the back equals my blaster bolt straight into your round, squishy-looking face, she thought.

Mako scrambled to her feet, sniffing back tears. "Yea, you're right. No time right now. I'm sorry."

Kastiel waved her hand subtly, calming the small cyborg and motioning her to silence. She canted her head, listening. The noise from the cantina outside the office provided a rhythmic motion to the ebbing sounds in the room, a throbbing beat. But there was something … some slight pressure … the simplest wake in the current of sound trapped in the room, just enough that Kas knew they were being observed, watched. She listened, thinking, methodically going through the sounds that belonged, removing them from her consideration – concentrating.

Until … right there! The smallest whisper, a bare, low sliding shift as the stealthed droids whirred gently, their powered parts providing the slightest sound that worked to expose them to her heightened sense of hearing. She counted them carefully, the three droids hidden in the corner of the room. She leaned back onto the balls of her feet, shifting only slightly.

She heard the barest beep of an alarm, just before she triggered an incendiary missile from the gun mounted on her right forearm. The missile hit the first droid, creating a booming cacophony of sparks and droid cries of distress. The noise peeled through the room for the briefest of moments, until the droids, even mangled and burned, raised their rifles to threaten them.

Mako yelped, leaping behind the nearby table to kneel in the bloody pool left behind by Gele'ren, her blaster held upright as she leaned up to fire steady bursts towards the droids. The machines focused on her to their detriment. Because Kastiel never hesitated. She fired her jet pack, rocketing above the room so that she could loose a rain of blaster bolts from both of her weapons, spraying the three droids with rippling destructive fire.

Kas' boots touched back onto the ground, as she panted slowly, felt beads of sweat sliding down along the side of her face. The droids were smoking, puffing and wheezing, as their mechanical parts continued to twitch in futile attempts to fight. Mako stepped up behind Kastiel as she reached down towards one of the still glowing heads, yanking it loose from the machine's neck.

"Bet this is linked to the Eidolon, so he could watch the show. Find him, Mako."

"On it." Mako grasped the droid's head as she turned towards the holoterminal behind Gele'ren's desk. Kas could hear her sniffing back another small sound of grief. She looked down towards Anuli one more time, leaned over to touch his forehead. She whispered to him, sighing.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't fast enough, sorry I took too long. I won't forget you. And you'll live forever, there. I promise, Anuli."


	31. Chapter 30 -- What's in a name?

He knew, when he saw her eyes for the first time. Her eyes were the richest brown, aching with something hard and terrible, and glinting at him with purpose and determination – like the deepest earth holding hard to the tallest and thickest of trees. She would accomplish what she'd come for, nothing would stop her.

He saw it for what it was, because it was the same drive that had once compelled him, pushed him. It was the resolve that drove him to leave behind the harsh plains of his home world, to turn his horned head towards a better future rife with recognition and notoriety. It was a single-minded focus, a burning determination to be the best, the greatest. And nevermind that it was the greatest killer he looked to be called. He wanted to be the monster that was feared, the boogeyman to frighten children with.

He didn't even remember his name anymore. Only because the one who'd first lifted a blade to take a life, and earned the name Eidolon in the taking, that person was long gone, forgotten. Only the Eidolon remained.

He didn't remember that long ago name, or pretended he didn't remember it, at least. He did remember the look on the man's face when he killed him, the way his mouth twisted in agonized shock and his eyes sparked with terror. He liked that memory, held onto it. That was the day he killed his hated father, right after he taunted him, said he'd be nothing, was nothing. He'd responded by thrusting a blade straight into his belly, and ripped up. That was the memory he held onto. Not the name. That, he left behind. Left it, along with his weakness, so that he could glory on his resolve and renown.

No. He was the Eidolon. People whispered that name, trembling, with fear skittering down their spines. And it pleased him to know it.

Now, he watched the hunter coming towards him. And he saw it, a steely determination firing her spirit. It flamed from her eyes, her gaze burning into him as she stepped forward. He remembered it, remembered how it burned him up from inside. How he'd hungered, for fame, for glory, for a name. it was why he'd become a ghost.

But this one? She was going to be a fraggin' hero before she was done. The only thing he could hope for before it was done, was that his own name would make hers greater.

Oh, and that she'd save him from the fate the Cartel was calling for him, too.

He sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes sliding down her lushly curved figure, the soft shape hugged by hard armor. Her blasters nestled against her hips, the handles well-worn from the oils of her hands. She was good, practiced, smooth. She walked with confidence, surety, purpose.

This was a woman who had already ruined him. She'd shown him up, demonstrated his incapability and ineffectuality in the face of one, single and lone assailant. He discounted the little female cyborg following her, in fact. Didn't matter, regardless. His business was fractured and flailing in the face of her assaults. Not even the attack he'd made against her in retribution could save him now. He was bleeding out and the Cartel could smell it.

They'd not only take his head. They'd take him apart, bit by little bit, rather. By the time he finally succumbed to death, he'd be crying, weeping, and begging them to just let him die.

It would be brutal. It would be slow.

Ironic, he thought, that he was now looking to the same woman who'd ruined him to save him from that. Because she could surely accomplish it. It's why he'd stood here, listening, as she blasted and banged her way towards him.

He was waiting to see if she could offer him the better death than the Hutts would give him.

He'd give her glory. She'd give him peace. It was a good bargain, he thought.

Then he saw her eyes. Earthy, deep, and burning fiery. And he finally feared. He feared she was going to deny him the easy death, the one that would allow him to retain some sense of distinction, of legend. She hated him. But it was hard and terrible. So he became afraid.

"Unbelievable. You have to tell me why you're doing this? Who sent you?" He shook his head, staring at her.

The hunter sneered at him. "I didn't come here for conversation."

He shrugged. "Somebody wants me dead."

She canted her dark head towards him. Her hair was deeply black, inky black. It fell forward against her jaw as she inclined her chin. The implants that swept underneath her rich dark eyes gleamed, catching and reflecting the overhead lights. "Quite a few people want you dead, actually. Been asked by the Hutts to bring you in alive. Maybe I should take them up on the offer."

He sucked back an angry, bitter retort. But his gaze sharpened, went low and mean. "They're not the ones who sent you, though. Who?"

"Doesn't matter anymore. You hurt someone today. And Mako here asked me to make you pay for it." The little female standing just behind the hunter snorted at him, her gaze just as blank and hard as the hunter's. "And since I care more about her than I do the Hutts, I'm going to give her what she wants. You. Are. A. Dead man."

His eyes became rich with pleasing. "Many have tried. And their heads are mounted on my wall."

She smiled. "I don't want your head. Don't want anything of you. I just want you to disappear. Forever. I'll make sure you're forgetten. No one will ever remember you, let alone look upon your sorry mug ever again. Not even in death."

And that's when he realized that her determination was markedly different from his own. Because she cared nothing at all for the glory of his name nor what killing him might do for hers. He couldn't even wrap his head around what was truly important to her, in fact. But he realized, staring there into her dark eyes, that she perfectly understood what compelled him. And she was just determined enough to deny him that, deny him a history, a legend. She'd rob him of it, purposefully, and be glad in the doing. He snarled at her, gnashing his teeth.

And that's when the hunter's fist lashed out against the side of his face, just under his left horn. He felt a burst of shocking pain, felt blood trickling down from the laceration she left behind with the blow. He glanced down, saw that her knuckles were wrapped in bits of metal, the dull grey pieces of implants yanked from a young man's face earlier in the day. He shot her a dirty look, grunting angrily at her. But she hit him again. Then again. He screamed at the end, blood streaming from the cuts and lacerations left by her fists. She smiled at him, then.

And she didn't stop smiling until he was dead.

* * *

"You don't have a monkey-lizard with you this time, do you?"

Mako glanced up. Corso's grin disappeared as he considered her swollen eyes blinking blearily at him. She remained huddled over a glass filled with some kind of liquid that glowed with a pink luminescence. She didn't seem to have drunk any of it, though. She just hugged the glass, crying, completely oblivious to the myriad people streaming around the table in the cantina where she was hunkered.

Corso plunked himself into the seat next to her, looking around the cantina for a brief moment as he tried to find the captain's sister. But the bounty hunter was nowhere to be seen. He sighed as he regarded the tiny cyborg, instead.

He'd liked the plucky little female. He liked most females, though. He tended to think women were a gift designed to soothe men's fractured selves, their pains and upsets. It bothered him immensely to see anyone hurt a woman. Although experience had taught him it was terribly easy to hurt a woman, too. "It's times like this, I'd be almost willing to let a monkey-lizard dance on my head. Maybe you'd laugh, at least."

Mako smiled. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure thing. Hate seeing a pretty lady cry." He reached out, running his finger along the tear tracks marking her cheek. "Some things … well, it's a sorry thing to see, at least."

Mako puffed a small breath of air, watched his eyes widen as he felt it sliding against his fingers. He sucked in a breath, shaking his head at her. It was enough to make her smile, watching how uncomfortable he looked, there. "Sometimes, though, a woman needs to cry."

Corso shrugged. "If you tell me what happened, I'll make whatever bastard made you cry pay for it."

Mako shrugged, taking a small sip of her pink-colored drink. "Kas already did that. She beat his face to pieces before she finally shot him." She leaned closer to Corso's armored chest, whispering in feigned conspiracy. "Remind me not to ever ever piss her off."

Corso raised his eyebrows, regarding her carefully. "She's dangerous?" Corso was still trying to wrap his head around the idea his captain was born in the Empire, let alone that his sister still performed jobs for them. Gaibriel had been adamant she wasn't overly loyal to the Empire, though. Not sure what that meant, exactly. To Corso, if you worked for someone, it showed a certain amount of loyalty. But he didn't neccessarily voice his disagreement when Gaib stared at him, either.

"You don't become a bounty hunter for the Empire without proving you're dangerous, Corso. It simply isn't done."

"But would she hurt _you_? Or the captain, maybe?"

Mako smiled, because he didn't include himself in the list of possible targets for Kastiel's anger. Then she shook her head. "She'd die first." She looked away, her eyes going bleak and terrible again as she remembered. "No, Corso. She was mad today, only because she wasn't able to stop someone from being hurt. He begged her for help, and she couldn't save him. I came here, so that she wouldn't see me cry. It would make her feel worse, like I blame her. When I don't."

"Who was it? What happened?"

"Just a friend. Someone I knew from when I was still little, here on the streets. He never got away from this place. And it killed him when he tried." Mako's voice broke towards the end, tears sliding down her cheeks again.

He sighed. "Shouldn't do that. Cry, I mean. Makes me feel all protective."

She smiled. "Not like you'll be able to protect me from tears, Corso."

He grinned at her, lopsided and adorable. She thought he was the cutest fellow she'd ever come across. His eyes were softly brown, and they stayed warm and welcoming, gleaming at her over his scarred cheekbones. He leaned closer to her. "Sure I can. Just have to make sure you forget all about crying."

"Really? How would you do that?"

"Easy. I'd kiss you."

Mako smiled at him. "Is this just a hypothetical? Or will you really kiss me?"

"I'm not big into hypotheticals."

"Good."

* * *

Kastiel wrapped the fibercord rope around the steel girder that supported the balcony extending over the ledge she was perched on and secured it with a grappling hook. She attached the rope to the harness that circled her waist before looping it down and around her thighs. She leaned over the side of the building, glancing down.

The darkness of the lower levels was thick and heavy, reaching up towards where she stood. The bright lights of the casinos and cantinas barely touched it. Then Kastiel shook her head, leaning to look at the circular opening just below her. Bilge water spilled from the hole, the filthy sludge sliding down the building somewhat thickly, leaving behind a dark brown stain that extended far below the hole itself.

"Crazy piece of work. Insane, even." Kastiel muttered, facing the building before sliding herself over the side and carefully lowering herself. She talked to herself as she maneuvered herself into position. She secured herself against the side of the building, using hooks against the edges of the hole to hold herself in place. Then she steadied herself, placing her booted feet against the sides of the opening. She peered into the inky black hole and listened, grunting when all she could hear was more dirty water sliding down out of the hole. "Figures you'd be late. Gods, this stinks."

Kastiel looked away, panting through her mouth to avoid the stench emanating from the sewer in front of her. She breathed quietly as she waited, concentrating, thinking. That's when she heard a small shift, the tiniest of sighs as someone inside of the sewer moved. She looked into the dark depths, straining her senses. She eyed the the connections on the rope and her harness, before leaning back once again.

Then there was a rush of swill spilling from the hole, splashing over her boots so that Kastiel grunted unhappily. She always seemed to get shit caked onto her boots! Dammit! She snarled. That's when she heard the smooth, hurried tone of a man calling to her through the dark hole, his voice echoing, "Catch me!" Kas grunted as she heard the sound of a body sliding roughly down through the hole, just before a man burst from the dark, falling against her form suspended there, his dirty arms flailing to catch her.

"Gotcha!" Kas gripped the man, yanking him up against her armored chest, clinging to him. He groaned, raising his legs to wrap them around her waist and burying his face against her shoulder, hanging onto her desperately. "Hold fast!" Then Kas looked up, eyeing the ledge she'd levered herself from. She tapped the controls for her jet pack, smoothly rocketing towards the ledge and lowering her burden against the surface there. "Move it! Not much time, now."

To his credit, the man didn't hesitate. He flung himself into motion, helping her to yank and pull the ropes loose from where she'd secured them, before stuffing the materials into the pack she slung across her back. He lowered his head when Kastiel flung a cloak over his shoulders, then he pulled the hood up and over his head. She began trotting along the ledge, not even looking to see if he was following her. When she reached the wall that overlooked the street below, she waved a hand towards him, glancing up and down the walkway. But there was no security, no guards rushing along the way, no soldiers or other sort of law enforcement. Only the same lost souls so common to these more obscure and lonely sections of Nar Shaddaa.

Kas grunted, motioning towards her companion that he follow her as she jumped down onto a thick overhang before tumbling down towards the street. She landed easily on her feet, moving quickly even then, only glancing to see if anyone was watching and not surprised when she saw several loiters disappearing into the shadows rather than continue observing anything she did. In Nar Shaddaa, seeing the wrong thing at the wrong time could result in a hefty bounty. Kastiel, her armor splattered with muck, even though her blasters gleamed against her hips, was studiously ignored as she rushed along the way.

She finally ducked through a doorway that lead into a narrow stairway. She hurried up the steps, the man still following along with her. Then she rushed down towards a small door, thumbing the lock and listening to it disengage, before she hurried inside the small, relatively tidy room. Kas pointed. "Refresher, in there. Get cleaned up. I brought clothes." She didn't watch him as he ducked into refresher and activated the cleaning stall. She spent the brief minutes he was inside the stall cleaning her armor, rather. When he emerged, she thrust a set of clean clothes at him, motioning him to dress. Then she stumbled through the same process, washing herself carefully, before thrusting her legs into a pair of clean pants and yanking a clean shirt over her head.

He watched her. His eyes were dark, slanted. His gaze moved against her figure, showing slight, negligible interest as she covered her upthrust breasts and bare belly. His manner was one of preparedness, an assurance that certain things, while worth looking at, were not so much for a real having. There simply wasn't time, basically. That, and her entire demeanor seemed to shout, "_Don't even think about it_." He knew she was sizing him up, considered him more a threat than anything else. Only because she was at least as smart as her brother. And that one was sharp as a razor. Even if he was misguided.

Kastiel grunted suddenly. "How'd you know? About me?"

He shrugged, looking away, out the nearby window, watching as one of the kiosks slid by. "I followed the links. Follow them back far enough, and you can be found easily enough." He turned to face her again, his gaze going serious and terrible. "They're not interested enough to look for you. Not yet. It won't be long, though. He's becoming ... important."

She glared at him. "I'll be strong enough long before they think to try. But they'll use him up in the meantime. Then spit him out."

"Yes. As I indicated earlier, they've already taken the first steps."

She huffed as she pulled her armor back on, buckling the chestplate into place. "I'm not sure how the hell you plan on stopping them."

"I'm not sure I can, actually."

"Then what value to me are you, really?"

"I'm the only one who has any chance of saving him. I've already put measures into place. I'll know when it happens. But I make no promises. If I fail, he'll probably die. If he doesn't, he'll be ... ruined. Broken beyond hope of repair. There won't be much left of him if I fail." He looked at her, his head inclining softly. "It's up to you, whether you allow me the chance to help. I might save him."

"You might not."

"Indeed."

She stared at him, her brown eyes burning with fervor. He marveled that such a feminine creature could look so much like the man he'd worked with until very recently. Their eyes were the same, at least. "If you fail, if he dies or they break him like you say, then I'll hunt you down."

"I make no promises."

"But I do." She leaned forward, her fingers smoothing against the handle of her blaster. "No logic to it, no rhyme or reason. Just that, if I get you out of here, you save him. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down. You won't like it if I do, either. It's as simple as that."

He gazed at her, wonderingly. "You truly care for him. Remarkable. I have so little understanding of familial ties, bonds or feelings. My ... siblings, if you can call them that, never cared for me. Nor do I care overmuch for any of them. I wonder if it's a question of our breeding."

Kas just stared at him, nonplussed. Then she shrugged. "He's my brother. That's enough. We understood, then?"

He nodded.

"When the time comes, you'll let me know."

"Why? You won't be able to help him. Could do more harm if you tried, even."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll know. It's important. Do you understand?"

He shook his head. "Only that it's important to you."

"That's all you need to understand, though."

"Well, then. I understand."

"Good." Kastiel tucked her blasters against her hips. "Then let's get this show on the road. What're you called, by the way?"

"I've gone by many names. Faces, too, actually. For you, though?" He smiled slightly. "Call me X."


	32. Chapter 31 -- Judging and Watching

Artus leaned his head back, looking up towards the gloom of the sky, where ships could be seen smoothing their course down towards the Kaas City spaceport. Sweat ran in rivulets down the side of his brow, dripping against the pearly sheen of his armored shoulders. He grunted softly, watching the stormclouds gathering, wondering when the sheen of rain would turn into a downpour.

Then he bent once again over the hot surface in front of him, his thick, dark hands carefully manipulating the _beskar_ into the shape he envisioned in his mind's eye. Few metalsmiths had the skill at working mandalorian iron as Artus did – it was an art he'd worked hard to perfect over the long years of his life, and he'd succeeded to such an extent that his best warriors jostled and fought for the honor of wearing something he'd crafted.

Today, though, he shaped something he'd give his champion, the one he'd long since pinned so many of his hopes on. Such a warrior would be strong and capable. Able to carry along the best of the _Resol'nare_, to uphold the tradition of the _Mando'ade_ no matter the challenge. Courage, fierceness, determination – these would mark his Champion.

Honor. The champion would fight with honor. Would know that gaining the prize without honor would forever diminish it, cheapen it, and make it worth nothing in the taking.

Artus shook his head, flinging the sweat dripping into his line of sight again through the air, listening as it sizzled when it met the hot surfaces he was working over. He heated the iron, raising the temperature precisely and in the most careful increments, ensuring the best means of shaping it. Then he bent and shaped the metal, working it against the mold he'd fashioned in advance. He raised a laser cutter, smoothing the edges of the piece, just before taking a macro welder to the plates he was adhering to the front.

He grunted when he heard a shuffle of feet coming into the courtyard through the nearby doorway, considered the calls from the warriors just outside to identify who was approaching. He glanced over, smiling slightly as he watched the two figures moving towards him. He leaned back, glancing down to judge his work one last time.

"Nice bit of armor you got going there, Mandalor." The rough, gravelly voice resounded through the space.

Artus wondered briefly at the ability of the man to project his voice so ably, no matter the venue in which he offered it. Then he turned around, even as he swiped a hand across his forehead to smooth away the beads of sweat still dripping steadily down his face. He craned his neck so that he could look up into the Huntmaster's shaggy face. "I suppose there's something to be said in having a Huntmaster that even the Mandalore has to look up to," he said.

The wookie growled back. "Only a human would worry himself over questions of size."

Artus chuckled. Then he noticed Lek was leaning over the table to consider the armor he was crafting. The man glanced askance at him, his eyebrow upraised. Artus nodded. "You might be able to consider the best color I could give it, Lek."

Lek leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest as his head canted to the side. "Best not to let anyone else know who you're making this for, Mandalor. None but the most select few are supposed to know how the hunt's even proceeding, certainly not enough to truly judge who the winner's going to be. Not yet. And a lot can happen between now and the Hunt's end, too."

Artus shrugged his shoulders, rolling his aching muscles to relieve the stiffness he could feel smarting there. "I'm no fool warrior, Lek. I once won the Hunt myself and I know what it takes to win. I watched the hunters and still do, and I listen to the rumors and conjectures spinning outside that door, there. I can guess who's going to win the title."

Lek chuckled, shaking his head. "Green. She favors green. Trimmed in gold, mayhaps."

"Really? I would've thought blue, actually."

Lek shook his bald head. "You thought wrong. Green, for duty. And gold, too, for vengeance. She's honor-bound, serves hard, moves fast. She won't give up what she's fighting for, not for anything, not even for the Clan that takes her in. Not for you, either."

Artus frowned suddenly. "You say that, as if you know what she fights for."

"Nah, I couldn't tell you exactly what. Only that she's purely driven."

"You don't seem worried, though."

"No, I'm not. That one fights for something real enough. But it's a _good_ fight."

The wookie Huntmaster grunted just then. "The Hunter will take the prize. It's only a matter of time."

Artus turned away, looking up at the sky once again. Starships were moving through the gloomy skies, still. He suddenly recalled the last days of the Hydian Way Blockade, the smuggler ships that darted in and around the Mandalorian cruisers. There were laser cannons blazing, sending bolts that caused immense explosions against the cruisers' deflector shields, and the calls of his brothers as they died in the ensuing fires inside the ships. To go from such glorious victory to utter defeat so rapidly had been stunning.

Artus had despised being a mere puppet for the Empire going into that confrontation. Watching as his fellow warriors died so ignobly only firmed his determination to never again tolerate the _Mando'ade_ being used so utterly they lost the chance for truly honorable battle. That, and the Republic would not be so capable of defeating them ever again.

Mandalorians had to be independent of them both, owing allegiance to neither. When Artus stood proudly over the vanquished form of his predecessor, the Lesser, the one who'd led them to so fully align themselves with the Empire they were no longer able to distinguish themselves from those lapdog soldiers fighting for the Sith – that was when he'd finally felt free again.

He encouraged his own warriors to fight as they willed, be it for money or glory or position. But they had to maintain the honor of their people, uphold their traditions. There was nothing more precious or important. Nothing.

Lek was chuckling again. "She's got more offers coming in from the clans, by the by."

Artus grunted. "Could you imagine the warriors she'd make?"

Lek held his hands up, shrugging. "Might be why they're sniffing after her more and more every day."

The Mandalore looked up at the Huntmaster then, scanning his features. "You agree with me, then?"

The wookie nodded. "She's going to win. Everything else is merely a stepping stone towards victory. Her victory over the Eidolon was that impressive."

Artus nodded. He looked at Lek, then. "Do it, then. Ask her to go after these rumors of the List being sold. She'll retrieve it for us. And discover who betrayed his honor that badly by selling it, too. I want his head."

"Doubt she'll tell us who did it."

"Why do you say that?"

Lek leaned forward, his brown eyes serious. "Because she wants his head more than you do, Mandalore."


	33. Chapter 32 -- Looking

Torian wiped the oils his hands had left along the surface of his electrostaff, running the cloth down its length. The electromagnetic bursts that came from the weapon's ends typically flashed a near white pulse of painful energy, but they were dull and silent at the moment. Torian had set the emitters to a low-level setting before he bent over to begin his routine care of the weapon, ensuring a mere stun of electronic shock rather than a painful blow of killing energy if something went wrong. Jogo had taunted him for the caution, although Torian smoothly ignored him.

A warrior maintained his weapons. He ensured they were in working condition, capable in the field, and unlikely to fail him when they were most needed. Torian stared down at the staff, remembering his mother suddenly - the way she'd gripped her own blunt staff, the shimmer of the blue charges that burst from it.

"_The alloy that composes an electrostaff is resistant to the blows from a lightsaber, Torian. And the staff is made long enough that a warrior can keep his distance from a Jedi wielding a lightsaber, too. Don't rely on the bursts of energy that come from the weapon to kill your enemies, though. Get in there and bash them dead, instead. Use the energy against an enemy who needs a slower killing, rather_. _Or one who gets to close to you and needs a shock._"

Torian had never used his electrostaff to slowly destroy an enemy, although he knew how it was done. Aily Cadera had ensured her son knew the workings and capabilities of the electrostaff, anyway. She'd taken him with her when she trained with her own. His first memories involved standing in a sparring ring with his mother, holding up his small blade as she swung her staff against targets and listened to her describing the techniques she'd favored.

She'd also told him his father favored rifles when he went to battle. In his nightmares, he always saw her bleeding from wounds caused by a rifle as she lay dying. Torian clenched his fingers around the electrostaff, eyeing it carefully, wondering at the force of the blow that would someday take Jicoln's life. He'd bleed, too, he thought.

"Torian! _Haar'chak_! Will you be finished sometime today?" Jogo stood to the edge of the workbench where Torian was working, glaring balefully at him. Torian only shrugged.

"What's your hurry, Jogo?" Torian leaned over, eyeing Dev who was standing silently behind Jogo, frowning. Not that it was the first time Jogo had cursed towards Torian. But it was rare for any of the _mando'ad_ to openly vent his emotions among so many _aruetiise_. Torian glanced around quickly, not surprised to note the curious stares of the tradesmen and patrons jostling around the benches of the weapons' market.

Jogo pursed his lips, refusing to back down from his tantrum, obviously. "Want to get out of here." Jogo tilted his head back, trying to judge whether or not it would rain again anytime soon. The miserable clouds swirling over the towering spires of Kaas City promised rain, anyway. He sighed.

Dev shook his head impatiently. "He's been like this all afternoon."

Jogo glared at the both of them this time. "_Ganar bah urcir_."

"Who?" Torian grunted. He replaced his tools in his pack, before raising his electrostaff to sling it across his back and follow after Jogo, who began stalking his way from the marketplace. Dev trotted after him, darting Jogo curious looks as they neared the wealthier section of the city.

"Was in the cantina earlier. Was asked to meet with her, here." Jogo was nearly panting. Torian frowned at him, trying to ignore the curious looks some of the passerby were shooting at them as they went along.

"Someone looking to have us complete a task, Jogo? Be mindful. The _alor'ad_ would need word, first." Torian cautioned. But Jogo shook his head, replying, "Not for this, he won't. Come on!"

One little man, his head covered by only the sparcest bit of fuzzy hair, yelped when he saw the three Mandalorians moving towards the building he was only just exiting. Dev actually chuckled as the fellow began running down the hard, wet surface of the road, elbowing Torian. "Real credits says he makes it all the way to Coruscant before he realizes we weren't looking for him." Dev grinned.

Torian smiled back at him. "Don't think he's smart enough to get to Coruscant, actually. Balmorra, maybe. He'll try to stay close to something Imperial. I've heard the Imperials are doing well on Balmorra."

"Would've liked to be there. I heard the fighting was heavy." Dev shrugged.

Jogo snarled at the both of them. "_Ne'johaa_! We're nearly there."

Dev scowled at Jogo but Torian only rolled his eyes. Jogo ignored them as he pushed his way through the doors into the apartment building. Torian glanced up, scanning to the top of the spire housing the fancy apartments. The murky clouds of Dromund Kaas continued to swirl almost menacingly above them. Lightning darted, there, among the twisting air currents, even.

He frowned, confused. Wealthy Imperial prestige, complete with all its misconceptions on what constituted true honor, were no place for a Mandalorian. But he still ducked inside, following after Jogo, who was still moving steadily through the hallway. Jogo finally stopped in front of a tall, dark door, waving at Torian and Dev for quiet as he glanced around. Torian frowned at Jogo's back, thinking to kick him in the back of the leg. But that's when the door suddenly opened wide.

"I thought you'd never find us! But here you are! And you did it! You brought friends! Oh, good! I told you they'd come, Leera, see?" The woman in the doorway reached out to grasp a grinning Jogo and pull him into the plush apartment. She had a pale, narrow face, with slanted blue eyes that were highlighted with the garish paints popular with the supposedly more noble members of Imperial society. Her dark red hair was pulled back and bundled against the nape of her neck, while tendrils were left to brush against her jaw.

Torian imagined she might actually be attractive enough, although she was overly garish. That, and her behavior was atrocious. He stepped inside the space, pulling a gaping Dev with him, so that the door could slide closed behind them. That way no one passing by the place would have to view the woman running her hands along Jogo's shoulders and down his chest. Dev leaned closer, "Is she going to undress him, do you think?"

Torian grunted, shaking his head in bewilderment. Jogo glanced back at them, but he didn't push the woman off and away from him, saying, "This is Samara. She was … eager … for some company tonight." Samara trilled some sort of happy sound, although it left a sour taste in Torian's throat to hear it.

"Not just me. I have friends, too, you know." Samara waved her hand, gesturing towards the other side of the room where two more females, both human, were resting on the plump cushions of some very expensive sofas. "That's Bessanne, there. And then there's Leera. This little party is for Leera, actually. My treat for her, before she gets married."

Torian really did frown then, looking over at the other two women. Bessanne was giggling, her dark brown hair smoothing against her shoulders as she gyrated against the cushions. Her middrift-baring dress rose against her pale thighs as she raised herself up onto her knees, motioning towards them, gesturing that they approach her. The other one – Leera – she stayed quiet, pensive, her blue eyes sliding back and forth between Torian and Dev. He couldn't tell what she really wanted as she stayed so silent, there. She seemed almost apprehensive. He turned, rather, back to Jogo, frowning when he saw that Samara was unbuckling Jogo's breastplate.

"What is this, Jogo?"

"This? This is fun. Come on."

Torian frowned even harder. He couldn't have said why he felt the entire encounter was nasty. He did know if the one called Samara laid a single hand on him, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from saying so, though. Jogo was glaring at him now.

"Don't know what's wrong with you, Torian. It's not like you don't play with the females when you get the chance. Always seem to have some woman clinging to you after a fight. Why they think you're so much worth chasing after, I'll never know." Jogo sneered at him.

But Dev chuckled. "You're just mad they like him better than you."

Jogo glared at Dev. But Samara succeeded in pulling his armor loose just then, and she laughed as her hands went under his shirt to rub against his chest. Jogo raised his arms up so that she could push the shirt completely off. She smiled over at them, nodding her red-haired head.

"Come on, don't be shy. We won't bite. Not too hard, anyway." Samara hummed happily. "You're so tough and hard, mando. Just what I need tonight. Haven't played so dangerously since I took that imperial agent to my bed, in fact. Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Samara yanked and pulled on Jogo's hand, and he followed after her. Torian watched as they disappeared into an adjacent room, closing the door behind them. Then he heard Dev gasp.

Bessanne had dropped to her knees in front of the young mandalorian. Her breath fanned against his armored belly, as she began plucking against the armored covering his groin. Dev looked down at her, shocked, his mouth hanging open as he watched her. She tilted her head back, looking up at him, still giggling. Torian shook his head in disgust at her.

"Bessanne can be quite … wild in her passions."

Torian looked over at the last woman, Leera, saw her looking back at him almost apologetically. He scowled at her. "She's digusting."

But Leera only shrugged. "Her behavior is hardly even frowned upon here in Kaas City."

Torian heard Dev loose a heavy groan. He refused to look over at them, though. Leera stood up suddenly, held her hand out to him. He shook his head, frowning. "Don't want to be used like a staff that happens to have a man attached."

Leera smiled, then. "I'm glad for that. I've never had a man take me before."

Torian's eyebrows shot up. "Truly?"

Leera shrugged. "Samara is a decent enough friend. When I decided to lose my virginity, rather than gift it to the egotistical cold fish my family is determined that I marry, she was quite naturally the one I went to." She leaned aside, glancing past Torian towards the other couple still groping each other behind him. "Of course, she decided I needed what she called 'real men' for the task. I believe she only wanted to do something even most nobles would frown upon. She delights in shocking them, you know."

Torian rolled his eyes as he heard Dev gasp again. He reached down and grabbed Leera's hand, dragging her into a nearby room, coldly eyeing the bed up against the far wall as they entered the room. He turned around, his lips pressed tightly together. "I'm not a thing to be used, not a tool to be tossed in the face of some dull-faced _shab_ you're promised to marry."

Leera canted her head, regarding him curiously. "I always thought men were delighted to use and be used. What sort of man would turn down a woman who asks for nothing of him? Not commitment, surely. Not money or gifts. Nothing. You'd get pleasure and I'd get … some small satisfaction in knowing I did something just for me, just because I wanted it, not because anyone made me." Then she frowned. "What's a _shab_?"

Torian shook his head, looking out at the nearby wall of windows, watched as the rain became a downpour all of a sudden. Lightning was trilling against the sky, sparking madly. He thought the weather perfectly suited his dark thoughts.

"Is it me, then? Am I … maybe I'm not pretty enough?"

Torian's head shot back around so that he could look at her. Leera wasn't watching him anymore. Her gaze had dropped to the floor as she fiddled with the hem of her completely inappropriate …he supposed it was called a dress, although it hardly qualified for the term. Her blonde hair fell forward, obscuring her face, but he could just make out her teeth pulling against her lower lip. He smiled suddenly, as the situation suddenly seemed that absurd, his lips twisting into a sardonic grin. "Do you seriously think to manipulate me into doing as you wish?"

She peeked up at him through her bangs, smiling slightly. "Is it working?"

He laughed, then, shaking his head. "No. I won't be manipulated. But I might be asked."

"Then … will you?"

Torian hesitated one last time, running his eyes up and down her figure. Then he looked back at her, saw her watching him. "Yes."

* * *

Kastiel crossed her arms across her chest, eyeing the huntmaster's assistant carefully. Lek chuckled back at her, his gravelly voice actually sounding pleasing. Talking to Lek always made her feel like … drinking, having fun. Maybe she should consider stopping off at the cantina before leaving Dromund Kaas. She'd managed to create a rather impressive fight at a cantina on Sulust the last time she'd really let herself engage in some fun downtime.

Braden was there, she remembered. He'd walked her back to her rooms, their arms flung across each other's shoulders, both nursing numerous cuts and bruises and laughing harder than their injuries could've possibly justified.

Ah, good times, she thought now.

"You won me several bets, hunter. I knew there was a reason I liked you." Lek leaned back on the balls of his booted feet, grunting something that sounded pretty much like happy to her.

Kastiel shrugged. "Yea, well. I got all copies of the list and made sure that everyone at that auction on Hutta was sorry for showing up. But I wasn't able to find out much about how the list got into the hands of the slicer." She glanced at Crysta, who was standing quietly behind Lek nearby. "He did say it was one of your people."

Lek rubbed his chin thoughtfully, inclining his head. "A mandalorian? That's bad business. But you got no name?" Kas felt Mako step closer, pressing her to tell them what the slicer had said, but Kas ignored her, shaking her head towards Lek. Odd, she thought, that the huntmaster assistant seemed more pleased than not when Kastiel said nothing that even vaguely sounded like "Tarro Blood". But Lek only nodded at her. "Well, that means we can't really do much except keep a closer eye on our people. You did real good, hunter. Trust me."

Crysta gestured for them to follow her out of the room. Several warriors and fighters gathered in the hallway outside the room stared when they saw the three women coming out of the room. Kastiel ignored them, leaning over Mako's datapad, rather, to ensure their payment for the work done on Hutta was properly recorded in her accounts.

Kas was grateful she'd made such a strong point for a good payment. Mako's concern the work might hinder her chances of winning the Hunt - that it showed undue favoritism from the Huntmaster in front of the Clans - had left her stomach twisting. She wanted something to show for the sheer stress of the event, dammit.

Her mind spun with several plans as they walked along with Crysta, Mako chattering next to her. She'd be able to restock the ship with better provisions. She almost rubbed her hands together as she thought about the spices she could afford now. Would have to make sure there was a supply of rancid meat for the monkey-lizard, too. Speaking of which, Two needed a new compressor, as well. He'd overheated a couple of times during the last month. There were several engine parts that needed upgrades. Might be able to swing another piece of shielding, even. Oh, and sheets! She definitely needed finer linens for the sleeping quarters on board the ship. She'd given Mako the better blankets, at least. But they could use some more. And nicer ones, too. All the linens on board were blue and grey, in fact. Masculine colors that didn't suit her tiny crew at all. Kastiel preferred earthy tones of green and brown. Maybe yellow.

Kastiel grunted as she nearly walked into the armored chest of one of the mandalorian warriors, listened to him grumble something. He sounded strange as he spoke, probably apologizing. She didn't truly notice. She only shrugged as she stepped around him, not even looking up at him as she moved. She was confused when Crysta chuckled. But Mako laughed, elbowing Crysta as they continued walking. "She's always like that."

Crysta glanced at the small cyborg. "Really? All the time?" Mako nodded at her, almost laughing again as Crysta took in Kas' confused expression. Crysta shook her head, her eyebrows upraised. "That's incredible. Won't last long round this bunch, either. Not with the way they're keeping after her."

Mako shrugged. "I'd pay real credits to see it. I mean it. She just doesn't notice them."

"Yea? Well, you ain't seen how persistent mandoes can be. How much you willing to pay?"

Kastiel gave up trying to understand what they were talking about, even as they argued together for several moments as to whatever amount was necessary, shaking her head. Amounts. She went back to considering what items could be purchased at the nearby markets in Kaas City, and how much they normally cost. Ship parts would best be purchased at the Imperial Fleet that permanently traversed the Dromund Kaas system, though. She was calculating the time it would take to visit the fleet when she caught sight of a group of warriors stepping into the wide doorway of the Enclave.

Kastiel stopped, staring at him. He didn't notice her, only because his blonde head was bent to the side as he argued with another warrior. She scanned him quickly, noting his armor, the brown and yellow markings against the mandalorian alloys. His figure was trim, a well-muscled form that spoke of health and strength without being too large or bulky. His face was marked, both cheeks scarred deliberately with symbols she didn't recognize, although they served to highlight the hard angles of his jaw and his deepset brown eyes.

It was him, she thought. Older. But she remembered his eyes. They looked the same, even now. She remembered the way he watched her as she cried out against the pain, her little body twisting on the table where the doctors had placed her. He'd held her hand, in fact, smoothing his fingers against hers as the two older mandalorians argued with the doctors. She'd watched him steadily, until finally the medicine worked and she'd drifted into unconsciousness.

"Kas? What's the matter with you?" Mako poked her in the back, gaping at her. The bounty hunter only shrugged. She looked over at Crysta, rather, subtly pointing.

"Who is he, Crysta? His name?"

Crysta glanced over, biting her lip against a smirk as she responded. "Cadera. That's his clan name. Torian Cadera."

"Torian." Kastiel murmured his name, her tone quiet, thoughtful as she watched him walking away with the other two warriors he was still arguing with. Mako would've said Kas sounded hungry. Mako eyed her, noticed her gaze was focused on the mandalorian's ass. She shot Crysta a look, slightly stunned. "You said it wouldn't take long. But come on! This is seriously ridiculous!"

Crysta laughed outloud. "You owe me twenty credits, girlie. Pay up!"

* * *

Crysta looked up at Corridan's holoterminal image, grinning. "There's these sweet rumors going round you been asking about my girl. Makes for a lot more interest in her, having Clan Ordo looking at her."

He shrugged back at her, nodding. "She's worth watching. Heard she did well, killed a target many thought couldn't be killed."

"I told you she was good!"

He smirked at her, crossing his arms across his chest. "Does this mean you're more willing to set up a meeting for me?"

Crysta grinned. "For you? You wish, don't you? Really! Tell me the truth!"

"You're torturing me for a reason, I know it, Crysta. Ah, you're just perfectly cruel, wound me every time! I love it! Remind me why I've never really gotten you to kiss me, hmm?"

She laughed aloud at his incredible flirting. "Cause I'm old enough to be your mother, that's why! Anyway, my girl's got her eye on a warrior, all right. But it ain't you."

Corridan's grin disappeared. He dropped his arms, looking at her with a serious level of consideration. "She has a good eye. I shouldn't be surprised she'd pick the one warrior who represents the very best of us, I suppose." He leaned forward. "I'll talk to him."

Crysta nodded, her lips pursed thoughtfully. "She'll need him, Corridan."

"I think it's more that they need each other."

* * *

**I should have been sharing the translations for those mandalorian terms I've used already. Will do better about that from here on out:**

**_Haar'chak - _damn it**

**___mando'ad - _mandalorians**

**_____aruetiise - _outsiders, non-mandalorians**

**_______ganar bah urcir - _have to meet someone**

**_________alor'ad - _captain**

**___________ne'johaa - _shut up**

**_____________shab - _ achum or a screw up**


	34. Chapter 33 -- A Devil Trapped in Hell

Tyresius Lokei wondered what god he'd managed to piss off, that he couldn't seem to get even a smidgeon of good luck enough to get off this stinking oven of a planet. Not that he'd be overly surprised to know he'd pissed off a god, either. He'd managed to easily piss off the vast majority of the galaxy at this point. Why not the gods, too? Hell, why stop with one god? Why not all of them?

Which led him to wonder if mandalorians even had gods. Now there was a thought. Perhaps he could appeal to some sort of religious fervor of theirs, if they had some. Although he'd have to prod the next mando that came after him, to see if they'd fall for it. Wouldn't be the first time he'd pretended some sort of zeal he'd never truly experienced.

Although now that he thought about it, it was purely confusing it had taken the mandalorians so long a time to come after him. He'd been on Tatooine for years anyway, hiding behind the carefully crafted identity of a used speeder seller named Gellar Roing. You'd think they would've found him long before now. There's only so many speeders he could sell before someone thought to wonder what the hell he was really doing hanging around the burning world, anyway.

Then again they'd maybe spent most of this time looking for Hylo, rather than hunting down his own horned ass of a self. Or maybe they'd already caught Hylo. Maybe she was gone for good - killed by a blaster bolt in the face or turned over to the Hutts and slowly creamed over weeks of painful torture. Had they hurt her? That thought sent a pure thrill of the most bitter pain through his heart, so that Tyresius shook his head, deliberately denying the chance she'd been caught or killed.

No, Hylo was like one of those long ago mythical creatures from human lore that always fell on their feet and enjoyed multiple lives. What the hell were they called again? Ah, damn. His head had started hurting again, and he rubbed wearily along his temple, just under his false horn.

That stupid Rhodian bounty hunter had required some incredibly fast negotiations. He was so nervous, in fact, that Tyresius had feared the little fellow would open fire, blasting him to pieces without a thought. That's why he'd crouched down there, on the scorching hot sand, even as his ship burned behind him, insisting the creature listen to him. It had worked, but only barely. And even then it worked only because the Rhodian was more scared of what he called "the other hunter" to really persist in this so-called Great Hunt the mandalorians had set him on. He kept gibbering about how that hunter was already "winning".

Winning what, anyway? And when had Tyresius been determine prize enough he could win someone anything? Just plain unfair, if you asked him.

He had to wonder what sort of angry brute of a bounty hunter could inspire the sort of dread that left a Rhodian trembling. Mind you, the Rhodian was a slight. And green. Maybe it wasn't too hard to scare one. But the mandalorian who'd given him a heads-up that he was a target in this Great Hunt had seemed tremendously … concerned, perhaps, was the best word to describe how Tarro Blood spoke of the bounty hunter coming after him. Words like "doesn't give up" and "can't be killed" didn't inspire any sort of good feeling in Tyresius' little Devaronian heart. He might disregard the terror a tiny alien felt when faced with this hunter. But a worried mandalorian was something else.

Tyresius was positive the bounty hunter was huge, scary. Maybe the hunter had big teeth, even. He'd seen Trandoshan hunters before. Didn't they eat people they hunted down? Spit them over fires, alive, before consuming them. Tyresius shuddered, his red skinned frame shaking hard for a moment, enough that the muscled guard he'd hired leaned over to whisper, "You okay, boss?" He only shrugged in response, craning his neck to look past the humans standing in front of him in the line for the transport off planet.

Come on! Why did it take so long to push a damn button on a person's records so they could get their asses off a stupid world? He sighed. And that's when someone poked his arm, causing him to spin around in surprise. Damn guards. They should've said something before the woman came so close! He shot them a swift glance, saw the two guards he'd used practically the last of his credits to hire, watching the two women standing there, regarding him attentively.

"You go by the name of Gellar Roing, here?" She was pretty enough, for a human. She lacked the sharp canine teeth common to the females of his own species, though. He admired her dark hair, anyway. It fell against her jaw, neatly obscuring what he realized were a series of cruel scars running along the side of her face down and across her neck. Damn, that would've hurt, he thought.

Then he glanced down and noted the rough edges of her armor and the pair of blasters perched on her sweetly curved hips.

Yea, the gods were really pissed at him. Really really pissed.

Although there was something nice about facing a woman bent on killing him who at least looked better than the brute he was imagining.

And seriously? Why was that mandalorian so bothered? You'd think he'd be able to take on one single female. Hell. She even had nicely shaped tits! Tyresius could tell, mind you. Even with the armor they were covered with. He had experience making quick and ready determinations, and he was never wrong.

Well. Mostly never wrong. All right. _Sometimes_ he wasn't wrong. Dammit!

"Hello! Yes, Gellar Roing is my name! Has been all my life! You in the market for a new land speeder? I can give you a sweet deal, or my name's not Gellar Roing!" Tyresius loosed his singsong routine, hoping like hell she'd buy it. But no. The gods were still fairly pissed at him, obviously, because she actually rolled her eyes at him.

"Guess I can't count on a sweet deal, either. Cause I know your name is not Gellar Roing." She shook her dark head at him and the little cyborg behind her actually huffed out a laugh. He nearly shot the giggling female a glare, before remembering to pretend shock and surprise.

"Well, I don't know what you mean. I'm most definitely Gellar Roing. It's the only name I have. Have ever had. Errr, and who are you?" Tyresius considered biting off the edge of his overlong tongue as he listened to himself stammering. This was definitely one of his more atrocious performances, sheesh!

"Give me a break, Tyresius. I'm a hunter and you're a bounty. We were destined to meet."

"Tyresius? Who's Tyresius?"

"You've got to the count of three, Tyresius."

Tyresius gaped at the bounty hunter. She was seriously going to shoot him right here and now! Really really serious! What the hell did he do to deserve this nonsense? Well, he did shoot quite a few mandalorians during that little adventure with Hylo at the Hydian Way battle. Oh, and helped blow up a few mandalorian cruisers, too. But you'd think they would've gotten over it by now, at least!

He looked around madly, noting the various people who were suddenly running from the line where they'd been crowding him all the damn morning, all of them yelling and stumbling over themselves to get away. Bastards, he thought suddenly. Couldn't be moved with a crowbar when their moving might have done him some good. But now that he could've used a helping hand – heh! – there they went!

"Look, you have me all wrong!" Tyresius glared at his guards suddenly, the stupid fools still standing there stunned as they realized so achingly slow that he was being threatened right there in front of everybody, witnesses be damned! "What did I ever do to deserve this shit? Argh! Is there some reason I have to spell it out for you idiots? Shoot her!"

Tyresius was running even before the first shot went off. He did hear several shouts, a couple of feminine calls, the bounty hunter was yelling, "Dammit, the fucking target is running away! Mako! Shit!" But he certainly didn't stop to look back. He just ran! He pushed people out of his way, rushing for the doors to the spaceport.

Then he was outside. He stopped briefly, only because the heat of the outside air sucked the breath right out of his lungs for a moment. That might have been because he was hyperventilating, too. Maybe if he keeled over dead right in front of the doors the bounty hunter would finally stop chasing him. Although with his luck, she'd follow him straight away to whatever hell followed dying, too. That at least seemed to be what the gods were after at this point. A slow, torturous, and excruciating rush towards his final moments!

Damn it! He trotted away from the spaceport, making his slow, painful way towards the speeder he'd earlier abandoned, certain he'd not need it once he was onboard a transport leaving Tatooine.

Well, that plan was a bust. Now he was stuck with one last alternative. Only because he wouldn't be able to count on really using his own ship anymore. Not after selling it to that dumb Rhodian. Although the green alien was smart enough to judge that hunter back there, he thought, shuddering still.

Tyresius rolled his shoulders, trying to calm his breathing. He'd need to be calm. Because you didn't go to the Lady of Pain for a favor without giving her something in return.

He was stuck. Fuck the gods. He was already in hell.

* * *

**A brief note, here. **

**Devaronians were definitely one of the more interesting species in Star Wars lore. They showed a huge degree of gender dimorphism, meaning the males and females didn't look much alike at all. Males were generally red skinned, with long long tongues, and a pair of horns that extended from the tops of their heads. Females, on the other hand, were fur-covered, usually white or brown in color. The females were also more docile than the males, although they took on more leadership roles in Devaronian society. It was the females who ruled, taking more prominent roles in government and family, than males did.**

**Also of interest. The first appearance of a Devaronian is in the cantina scene from Episode 4 "A New Hope". Apparently, the costume department ran out of alien costumes that day of filming. So they used a devil costume for one of the extras in the scene, rather.**


	35. Chapter 34 -- Veedoo shot first!

It was the heat that did it, really. Up until she set foot outside the spaceport doors and felt the first swell of oven-blasted heat wash over her, Kastiel was actually in a fairly good mood, anyway. Not even watching what Crysta had called an overly slippery target like Tyresius Lokei running his nasty little devaronian tail out those same doors had managed to ruin it, in fact.

But the heat of Tatooine was so shocking, it blasted Kastiel's ability to continue her meandering thoughts about finding the mandalorian she'd spent so damn much of her life since she was six years old looking for. There were times she'd wondered if he was dead, even. Mandalorians really didn't have an exceptionally long life. Most died violently, in some sort of battle or another, and they died young, too.

So she'd loiter in front of the Enclave, watching the warriors coming and going for hours, hoping she'd see some sign of the blonde-haired boy she remembered. Tobie had thought her fascinated with the mandalorians themselves, and, truthfully, there was only so much watching she could offer the warriors before she really was. But she'd always looked for _him_, more than anything else. Him, and the woman, too. She'd decided long ago the woman was his mother. Was the man who fought with them and had picked her up, sheltering her – was he the boy's father?

It had frustrated her beyond words that she didn't even know their names, when they were the ones who'd saved her. The safest she'd ever felt in her life had been when she was wrapped up in the arms of that mandalorian, with the woman standing over them and the boy smoothing a cloth against her hurts. She'd felt like nothing could assail her, ruin or break her, and everything would be put right again, somehow. It was a brief, illusory feeling, and she'd known it even then, really, and never mind how young she was. But she'd enjoyed it, nonetheless.

And then it was gone, along with the people who'd given it to her, and she'd ached over the loss. She didn't even know what to call them. And she'd grieved as much for that, as she did the understanding her own mother was gone and her father, the hero of her youngest years, was destroyed, too.

Now she knew _his_ name. It helped. It soothed that long-ago pain of the little girl who'd felt lost and alone in a big, dark and scary world. Knowing he was there – just _there_ - that was enough. And that's how Kas justified the recurring sound of Crysta's telling of his name in her head ever since. It spun around there, like a broken holotransmission. A steady loop that tantalized and comforted.

Then Kastiel stepped outside the Tatooine spaceport and realized there really was a place where nothing even vaguely green and tree-like was capable of surviving because the suns literally quashed any such life that tried. She stumbled, gasping as the heat literally stole her breath, and she spun around to belt out a complaint towards Mako, "Are we cooking? I can feel myself baking away, here!"

Mako smiled grimly at Kastiel. "Never been to Tat, huh?"

"No! Don't want to stay on Tat, either!" Kas slowly breathed, trying to accustom herself to the sweltering environment. She cocked her head, thinking. "Mako, let's make it a rule from here on out, that anyone who asks us to visit Tatooine in the course of any job pays us double for the effort."

Mako actually chuckled as Kastiel continued sputtering. "We have to find the lazy bum of a Rhodian called Veedoo. Veedoo, hmmm. Sounds almost like a droid designation, somehow."

"Droids wouldn't mess up a bounty as bad as this Veedoo did. Fool sold Tyresius his ship, for crying out loud! I swear, if that Devaronian manages to escape this planet before we catch him, I'm going to tear the little green reptile apart." She coughed as the wind suddenly sent some sand swirling into the air as if to deliberately choke her. Kas looked around, bewildered, wondering if the planet itself was out to get her. "Forget tearing him apart. We'll just take Veedoo out and dump him somewhere far away from anything remotely inhabited by a humanoid."

"Hey, you should hear the stories about the sarlacc!"

"What the hell is a sarlacc?"

"Some kind of plant thing. Has a nest of some sort out in the Dune Sea. They say it consumes you over thousands of years, slowly and terribly digesting you."

"Yea! We could feed Veedoo to a beast like that! Bet it would like the taste of a bounty hunter like him! Although I doubt it would take thousands of years. Rodians are pretty skinny creatures. Not a lot of meat on them."

Mako huffed out a laugh, but the sand was really starting to twist against them, then. The two women began rushing, along with most of the locals, too, all of them looking for shelter against the driving force of the wind. Kastiel pointed towards the glimmering lights of the cantina, yanking Mako with her as they neared the doors. They were almost pushed through the doors, actually. Kas couldn't tell if the wind provided the momentum that compelled them through the entrance, or if it was the crowd of people pushing behind them.

Several resounding cheers echoed through the place, while Kastiel shook her head and watched in bemusement as the sand and grit literally tumbled from her hair. She glanced at Mako. "This planet sucks."

Mako nodded back at her, her olive-toned features as liberally covered in Tatooine dust as Kas' probably were. The bounty hunter continued shaking herself free of the stuff. Then she heard the singsong tones of Rodese peeling out over the cacophony in the cantina, as a rodian yelled, "Shake yourself, sweetheart! Yea, that's right! Show us what you got! Come on, everyone! Get the Surprises and Sunburns while the liquor's still flowing!

Kastiel frowned as she looked over at her once-rival in the Hunt. The rodian was leaning back against a low bench, his skinny green frame bouncing against the cushion he was sitting on as he clapped, watching a blue-skinned Twi'lek girl gyrating in front of him. There was a liberal pile of credits stacked on the table next to him.

Mako grunted. "Don't know, Kas. He's drunk enough he might make the sarlacc inebriated. I'm not sure that would be such a good idea."

"Yea, I suppose I'll have to content myself by planting my fist in his green face a few times. Come on." Kastiel stalked towards the Rodian, with Mako scrambling along behind her. She saw when he noticed her coming. His instincts were pretty good, she thought, when he tensed and sat up straighter there on his bench.

Kastiel gestured for the dancer to move out of the way, watched as the twi'lek moved fast while making it look like she was unconcerned. Practiced attempt to keep a potential emotionally-charged scene from exploding into violence, Kas knew. Not that it would do much good, she thought.

"I recognize you. Saw some vids of your melee fight on Dromund Kaas." The rodian tried to appear casual. That wasn't working anymore than the dancer's peacemaking motions had, either. Probably because the scales on his reptilian face had lightened until he almost looked yellow instead of green. That, and his two antennae were shaking there against his skull. Kas wondered if he was going to puke.

"Well, you stink. And not just because you're a rodian, either. That could be forgiven, Veedoo, because rodians can't help but stink. But to let Tyresius live – worse, to let him get away! – that's just not how we do things. You know that." Kastiel shook her dark head at Veedoo. He shot her a typical rodian scowl. Meaning that his thin mouth narrowed into a near circle. Kas bit back an amused sound.

"Better for me to run with more credits than I've ever seen before than wait for you to come along and blast me! Everyone knows you're going to win! But even when you win, you won't have a payoff as great as I got, just from letting one little devaronian walk away, hah! So I'm the better hunter, no matter what the mandoes say!"

She looked around the cantina, with all its sundry patrons still shaking sand and grit from their clothes and hair. Then she chuckled sarcastically. "And here you are. A pile of credits sitting on a table here on this oven of a world. No ship, even. You're so lucky. It's obvious."

He shrugged. "I've ordered a new ship. A Corellian yacht, in fact. It's on the way, here, and then I can go anywhere I want. Oh, it was a wonderful deal I made with Tyresius. I get his credits, all of them, and he gets my broken down ship that still needs fuel and parts before it can go anywhere. He'll have to do business with the Lady of Pain now that you've shut the spaceport to him. And no way would I want to be asking _her_ for favors." She watched his subtle gesture to whatever bit of muscle he'd hired, sensed the motion of the thugs moving towards her and Mako. "Hell, Tyresius even paid me extra if I took you out. Gave me enough credits to hire some help."

Kastiel looked askance at Mako. "This is one rodian who should be masticating inside one of those sarlaccs, come on! Where'd you say the thing was?"

"Dune Sea. Probably get a speeder out. I heard the Imperials have set up a series of outposts near there, even. Doubt they'd care if we lugged him out there, tied and gagged."

Veedoo trilled a cry of alarm, pointing at them. "Kill them both! Dammit, hurry!"

Kastiel spun, grabbing the barrel of the rifle one of the thugs was pointing at her back. She simply yanked the weapon out of his hands, then threw it at him, so that the thing caught him hard in the face. He yelped out a wet sort of cry, thanks to the blood running down from his nose into his mouth then. But it only got worse for him. Kastiel's bolt caught him smoothly in the side of his throat and he fell backwards, landing in a gross spread eagle position, gurgling out his final breaths.

Mako shouted as she loosed a rough kick into the groin of the vibrosword-wielding goon looming over her. The fellow yelped out a cry, wildly, and his weapon fell with a clang to the floor while he grabbed his aching testicles. Mako's shot shattered his temple then, and the human fell back, gasping as he died. Mako spun around, then. She saw Veedoo jumping up and down wildly, his blaster blazing wildly. His panic was obvious, enough that the locals were yelling curses his way, even as they ducked down behind tables and counters.

Kastiel moved fast, almost dancing in place as she raised both her blasters. Her first shot took Veedoo's right antennae off, so that it went flying like a flaming missile towards the twi'lek dancer now huddled down behind Veedoo's bench. The twi'lek yelped when the thing smacked against her blue cheek. Kas' second shot smashed into his face, just under one of his big black insectoid eyes. Green blood burst from his face as he gave one last pitiful cry before he died, crumbling into a heap next to the table piled with credit chips.

Kastiel inclined her chin towards Mako, gesturing towards the rodian's credits. Mako nodded, rushing over to gather up whatever was left of Veedoo's loot. Kas wondered if she'd be able to wait long enough to abscond with the rodian's ship, too. Doubtful, she thought, as the locals began poking their heads out from the holes where they'd bolted. Besides, her "Bad Boy" was almost growing on her by this time. It was at least much cleaner than when she'd stolen it.

That's when Veedoo's antennae came flying through the air to fall down at her feet with a sodden plop of sound. Kastiel stared down at the thing for a moment before she turned to regard the dancer who threw it at her. The woman was crying - whining out about how she should've taken up some smuggler's offer and left Tatooine, that no job was worth what she had to contend with in this particular cantina, and that rodians stank. Kas hid her smirk as she crossed her arms across her chest, letting the woman continue ranting.

"As if I'd give a rat's ass what the Lady of Pain did to any devaronian! I worry about me! My ass! Not some stupid devaronian's! Shit! Stinking rodian! And their damn tentacles, too."

"That was an antennae, actually. Not a tentacle." Kas toed the thing with one of her hard boots, shrugging.

"Who cares? It stank as much as he did!"

"Hey, I'll get rid of it. Even pick it up and toss it in the trash bin on my way out the door. _If_ you tell me how to find this Lady of Pain."

The twi'lek glared at her. "Why should I bother?"

"Because. If you don't. Well, then one of your lekku might end up in the same trash chute as the rodian's antennae."

Mako bit her lip to keep from laughing when the twi'lek stopped ranting and stared at Kastiel's blasters with suddenly wide, frightening eyes. The woman grasped the end of one of her head tails, fingering it almost absent-mindedly. Or to keep it from trembling, rather. She stammered, then, "I'm just a dancer."

"Bet you've been dancing here longer than I've been shooting rodians. Now, you know anything about the Lady of Pain, or not?" Kastiel sighed dramatically, appearing to grow impatient. Mako noticed several onlookers holding their breaths, waiting to see if the bounty hunter would continue the shooting.

The dancer's trembling grew worse. "Just don't kill me! Look, I danced for the Lady of Pain one time. She gave me the creeps, so I never went back. She has a fancy compound in one of the more dangerous areas of the desert. Works for the Exchange. They do a lot of sick things around here. Better to avoid them, I'm telling you."

"I've had some dealings with the Exchange before. I'm not concerned. Where's the compound?"

"South. Just past that new Imperial outpost they put out there. Please! I'm pretty sure I sprained something when I jumped behind the bench. Will you let me go? Please!"

Kas shrugged. "Sure thing. Here. Mako nabbed some of the rodian's credits. Have a few."

The dancer was hesitant to step closer to them. But she still snatched the credits that Mako held out. They watched the woman limp away, clutching her cash and mumbling about finding a new job somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Tatooine.

Kastiel lifted her chin as the twi'lek left, chuckling. "That's just me. Passing along valuable career-direction everywhere I go!"

"You are so bad, Kas."


	36. Chapter 35 -- A pain in my

Tatooine was really not so far a cry from her native Ratattak, the Lady thought, gazing around with a bored and indifferent expression even as the devaronian prattled endlessly about what he could offer her if only she'd help him. The planet was just as dry and cruel as Rattatak, anyway. The devaronian might have considered that before he approached her.

What she wanted from him, the more he strived to garner her interest, was to see what he'd look like if she had his horns ripped off the top of his head. She looked at him, trying to visualize him with blood spurting from two such obscene founts to coat his shoulders and the floor around him. It wouldn't be the first time the floor, here, was dirtied with a creature's blood, even. Although it would be the first time the blood was devaronian. Devaronians were fairly unusual on Tatooine, enough she'd never had a devaronian shed blood in her arena before. Perhaps this one could be used to change that.

She canted her head thoughtfully, regarding him. Yes, maybe the pack of massifs she kept penned and hungry nearby could be put to use bleeding him, especially if she tossed him into the arena with blood coming from torn-off horns. His horns might even be mounted on her wall, over her dining table, perhaps. He certainly wouldn't prove particularly helpful any other way. She doubted he'd even be capable of killing a single one of her canine pets. A mere merchant like him? Bah! But watching him be shredded by the pack would certainly prove more interesting than anything else he might provide her. Money, bah. Low and base, to limit one's pleasures to mere money.

She actually smiled when he perked up as he noted her sudden interest. Perhaps she should share her plans with him, she considered, eyeing his horns again. The winds suddenly swirled through the courtyard just then, reminding the Lady of the contest she was going to lose. And all because her champion fighter had perished in the recent storms, led astray in the blinding swirl of sand the storms sent biting against him, right into the path of a Sand People troop. They'd thrown pieces of him at her compound's walls.

The fool. He'd should've known better than to go get himself torn apart, should've done better against the primitive natives. Instead, she had to contend with the cloying presence of sycophants like the devaronian, even as that bastard Fel Dargun prepared his pig-like gamorrean fighter, Borga, for the arena outside. It was simply intolerable. Borga was a much finer specimen of fighter than this absurd little devaronian. What was his name again? Gellar Roing, yes. He was even more of a fool than her once champion, who's pieces were probably carried off by scavengers by now.

What a bore, she thought, rolling her eyes when he offered her slaves. Slaves! As if she didn't already own truckloads of slaves from all over the galaxy! She even told him so, her patience wearing utterly thin. That's the only reason she was looking at him when his red skin paled, looking almost orange as he gaped towards the compound's entrance.

What could possibly have gotten the idiot to finally shut up, she wondered, following his gaze. That's when she finally realized the real value of the devaronian, because it was a bounty hunter that stood framed in the doorway. The woman was human enough, though cybernetic implants scored her cheeks just under her dark eyes. She subtly smoothed her boots over the splotches of blood on the ground just outside the doorway, eyeing them with steady, confident determination. Damn, she even crossed her arms across her chest, utterly unafraid.

The Lady felt herself pant in anticipation. This one. This was the one who might be able to win her the prize, keep Fel Dargun from earning a favor of her. He might ask her for a new pet, even! He'd been eyeing her latest acquisition, a young human with the brightest blue eyes set deep against his dark-skinned face smuggled in from Nar Shaddaa. She'd yet to properly break him and refused to allow Fel Dargun the chance to enjoy such a delicious chore.

"Oh, just great flaming gods. Why can't I catch a single break lately?" Gellar Roing was muttering as the bounty hunter stepped forward. The Lady smiled, truly pleased for the first time in hours, if only because the pitiful devaronian was finally pained. Oh, and much more quiet, too.

The hunter stopped in front of the Lady, rolling her eyes slightly the Lady's guards ringed her in a show of solid strength. The Lady smiled slowly, canting her hips into a seductive pose as she regarded the bold hunter. The woman had a tiny companion behind her, the slight figure of another cyborg, who scanned the guards all around the room carefully as she stepped closer to the hunter's back. The two women were not necessarily related, the Lady considered. But hunter's stance was a protective one, blunt in her strength and straightforward, as she subtly leaned forward to smoothly block the guards' access to her companion.

She'd fight fiercely, determinedly, the Lady thought. She nearly crowed with delight.

Then the hunter turned her dark head, shooting the devaronian an amused glance. "Still trying to buy your way out of trouble, huh, Tyresius?"

The Lady pursed her lips, sliding her gaze towards the devaronian. "Tyresius? Wait, you're actually Tyresius Lokei? Oh, the Hutts would love to talk to you. You naughty devaronian, hiding from them right under my nose." He started spluttering about his riches again. The Lady quickly lost interest, turning back to the hunter again. "Are the Hutts paying you?"

The hunter regarded the Lady with a shrewd look. "Not working for the worms, no. It's the Clans that want him. Mako here tells me it has something to do with some battle during the last war."

"Ah, yes, with that fascinating Hylo Vysz. I'm surprised she's not your target." The Lady purred as she watched Tyresius' face grow even more pale. She almost laughed at his obvious distress over the possible fate of his once-lover. How delightful.

The hunter shrugged. "They're paying me. Ask them what reason they have to ask for his head, if you need to know."

"But I'm in possession of the prize, am I not? Perhaps it's me they should be paying." The Lady smirked. But the hunter only shrugged.

"It's not money you want, though. What're you hoping to gain from me?"

The Lady grinned, not surprised the hunter had surmised her real desire had nothing to do with wealth even as she stepped into the courtyard. Perfection. "You're right, of course. I find credits to be dirty. And not in a good way, either. My real passion lies in gladiatorial contests. There's one today, right here in my own arena. But my poor champion lies dead. I need you to take his place."

The hunter's eyes narrowed. "You seek blood sport? Very well. I'll kill your opponent and take my prize. Then we're done."

Tyresius held up a pointed finger. "Hey! Come on! What am I, a piece of meat?"

The Lady shrugged a pale, delicate shoulder towards him. "Of course you are. You could fight my massifs in the arena, mind you. Is that your wish?"

"I'm no gladiator!"

"Precisely. Which is why I'm negotiating with this fine specimen, rather. Now hush, Tyresius. You're boring me once again."

He spluttered. But the Lady went back to ignoring him. The hunter was staring at her, her dark brown eyes shadowed and hard. She said, "If you want me to fight for you, the devaronian stays in one piece. Your people harm him, and I'll be upset."

Tyresius went quiet, looking at the hunter appraisingly. It's as if he only just then realized how precarious a position his neck was in, there in the Lady's compound. What a funny little fellow, she thought, smiling evilly towards him. He shuddered, leaning away from her. Lucky for him, the danger he was in hadn't gone unnoticed by the hunter seeking him.

"So the mandalorians want him alive? That's amusingly different for them." The Lady crooned.

The hunter rolled her eyes once again, crossing her arms across her chest. "The terms of the contract are not for you to concern yourself with. If he's the prize you're offering to me, in order to get me into your arena, then I want him intact. Understood?"

"Of course. I'll see that he's kept … safe, then." She turned to her guards. "Take Tyresius away and secure him. Be careful, too. He's … slippery."

The guards gripped the devaronian's arm and began yanking on him. He shot the hunter a nasty glare, his pointed chin twitching angrily. "Damn you! What did I ever do to deserve you being such a pain in my ass?"

The hunter tilted her chin. "And who's Hylo Vysz?"

"Shut up! I'll get you for this!"

"Don't worry, you won't have to chase me down. I'll be right here."

The Lady smiled. "Oh, you are delightful, hunter. And the best entertainment hasn't even begun."

* * *

Kastiel smoothed a gelatinous stim against the chapped skin along the curve of her jaw, deliberately ignoring the porcine glares and squeals coming from Borga, the incredible obstacle currently plopped right in the way of her obtaining the head of one slippery as shit devaronian.

There certainly wasn't anything overtly remarkable about the gamorrean, anyway. Everything about him screamed "typical" to Kastiel. Even the mere seven morrts crawling along the fellow's yellowish-green skin indicated he was a relatively minor boar among his people, probably little more than a tusker. A clan boar angling to become a warlord would have attained far more of the little parasites so prized among the gamorreans as a status symbol, anyway.

No, Borga was a poor little gamorrean, fighting as much to survive as anything. He probably fought for every scrap of food his patron, Fel Dargun, was willing to bestow upon him. Probably why he hung his head when the human called for him to quiet, too.

Pitiful.

So Kastiel ignored him as he stamped his feet and grunted at her. She reduced his practiced saber-rattling to the same level as the bantering boasts the Lady tossed back and forth with Fel Dargun. A mere backdrop, basically. Right up there with the rest of the nonsense noise this planet tossed at her.

The Sand People, for instance. The creatures must reproduce by the bushel-full, she'd remarked to Mako as they fought through yet another group of them. She still wasn't sure what they looked like under those robes they wore. But their shouts and cries created an incredible cacophony she still couldn't quite figure out. She knew it was a language of some kind, as they'd moved as a concise fighting group every time one of those calls rang out. The language was like nothing she'd ever heard before, though.

She'd actually been tempted to stop and listen to them talk, rather than fight them. Even if Mako told her that was insane. Probably was, too, she thought, as she recalled the fight with the Sand People chieftan a couple of mandalorian fighters at Outpost Rennar had called Bloodgouge. Still, she'd pointed out, "Nothing wrong with talking, Mako!"

"It is when they're swinging a stick at your head, Kas!"

"Come on, it's a stick. I have a blaster."

"Then use it and shut up!"

Kastiel leaned sideways, bumping against Mako as they stood there on the ramp overlooking the Lady's arena awaiting the fight. Mako grumbled slightly as she elbowed Kastiel in return. Kas twisted her lip into a sideways grin, glancing at her friend as she checked the power levels of her blasters. Borga was still yelling, something about using her innards to turn her into a puppet.

"Hey, that's actually not a bad threat, Mako. Definitely one worth using."

"So long as you don't let him do it."

Kas rolled her eyes, only shrugging as she stepped down off the ramp into the sand-covered ground of the Lady's arena. Borga was chomping his tusks and stamping his feet, there on the sand across the way from her. Kastiel could hear Fel Dargun calling out to him from the ramp up above the arena, "Do it, my beautiful boy! Take her down!" She leaned back on her heels as the gamorrean took off, his huge mass moving at her in a bull-like rush of motion.

He was huge, so big that his shadow stretched across the sand in front of him. She looked down, watching calmly as the shadow touched the edges of her boots, there on the ground. She grunted, looking up just as Borga loomed over her, his arms held out wide with a single, terrible axe swinging over his shoulder.

Then Kastiel leaped to the side, rolling smoothly across the sand before coming back to her feet, her pistols held up and steady. She watched as Borga crashed through the metal legs holding up the heavy ramp where the onlookers were perched, before smashing against the stone wall behind them. The ramp shook and swayed from the impact, and Fel Dargun screamed, leaping off the thing. Kas noticed the Lady had moved even sooner. She stood coolly watching the match from atop a rock outcropping overlooking the arena, in fact. Smart lady, Kas thought.

Borga was groaning in pain now. Blood was streaming heavily from several deep gouges now carved into his face. Even his thick tusks were stained pink with blood, as he spit blood-splattered goo onto the ground. Kas cocked her head, regarding him dispassiontately when he lifted his large head to glare at her once again. He raised up his axe, stepping forward. But hardly fast enough.

Kastiel loosed a volley of shots, the bolts flying furiously from both of her blasters held up and steady in her hands. She could see Borga's large ungainly frame jerking from the impact of the bolts, the pain twisting his features as he twisted against the force of the wounding. His squeals rang out madly across the arena, pain making his cries exceptionally intense. Kas finally halted her attack, lowering her pistols into a more ready stance as she watched him. Borga swayed, his beady pig-like eyes blinking confusedly as he looked back at her. Then he fell backwards like a tree might when collapsing to the ground, the crash of his body hitting the sand sounding dull and heavy in the dry air.

"Borga! My sweet, precious boy! No! Oh no!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes against Fel Dargun's demented grief. Precious, my ass, she thought, even as the Lady taunted him, smiling at his distress. "A delicious contest. I told you she'd win, dear Fel Dargun."

Fel Dargun growled back at her. "This isn't over! I'll bring a better champion next time! You have my word!"

"Of course you will. I'll wait breathlessly until then. Really."

"Witch!"

The Lady laughed as he stomped away, glancing sideways towards Kastiel. "He has such sweet uses, that Fel Dargun. You should see him in the bedroom, bound and gagged while I lay a strap to his backside. Yum." The Lady smiled when Kas only shrugged, uncaring. "What? Doesn't stretch your fancy, to have a man completely at your mercy, dominated by your strength and control?"

Kastiel frowned. "Not sure you'd be able to wrap your head around what turns me on, Lady. Might be better that way."

The Lady laughed again. "Oh, you are quick. And not just with a blaster, either. I do like you. Pity you intend to leave me here, wallowing in loneliness."

"You'll survive, I'm sure."

"Of course. But it won't be half as much fun without you."

Kastiel shrugged, eyeing the Lady with shrewd question. "I would've thought the entertainment I provided today far exceeded what you were hoping for, actually. Wasn't it enough?"

The Lady sighed. "Enough is such a boring word. I don't like it over much. However, I promised you a prize." She looked at Kastiel, then, suddenly serious. She even leaned forward in emphasis. Kas was almost impressed. "And I do not back down from my promises."

Kas followed the Lady as she moved back towards the inner levels of the compound. The buildings on Tatooine were mostly underground structures, with mere domes that curved above ground. The architecture worked to retain a small level of coolness on a planet baked under the harsh twin suns of the system. She'd heard stories of an age when Tatooine was not so inhospitable, when jungles stretched across its surface rather than the dunes that covered it now. It was said some alien race had come and wiped the planet clean of water and life, turning all of it into glass that crumbled to sand over the eons.

Kas watched as the sand swirled up over her boots as she stepped after the Lady, wondering if the sheen of the dust really did come come from some ancient glass, the remnants of a dying race. She shook her head, looking forward to the table where the Lady was settling herself, waving a pale hand towards her and Mako both.

"You really do need to eat something before leaving, at least." The Lady sipped a bit of wine from a slender glass, while Kas found a place to sit. At a purposeful distance down the length of the table, where the Lady wouldn't be able to touch her. Mako sat next to her, while the Lady chuckled at them both.

The table was set with a relatively light meal. There was squill liver salad, along with selections of fruits, like pikas and podpoppers. All of it rested atop Tatooine flatbread, the biscuits so utterly common to the planet that Kastiel herself had a pouch full of the things in her pack. She avoided the wine, too. She drank some bantha blue milk, instead.

She was careful the Lady didn't see the stim she applied to her thigh under the table, too, before passing the syringe to Mako. No reason to outright insult one's host, she thought. Even if she was careful as shit to make sure the woman wasn't able to incapacitate either one of them with some carefully doctored poison. That, or kill them, of course. Although she suspected the woman wanted to keep them. Her, at least. She might assume Mako was expendable.

Either way, Kastiel was careful, and she hid her smile when the Lady frowned at them towards the end of the meal when whatever substance she'd put in the food – or drink … or both, actually – simply didn't work. The Lady proved herself oblivious to Kas' true skill set, relying only on what she'd seen of it, that Kas was good with a pair of blasters. She had little appreciation for the bounty hunter's ability to fix shattered bones and wounded tissues, perhaps better even than she did at breaking them. The misapprehension proved valuable, at least.

"It's time for me to retrieve the devaronian, Lady. It will be hard enough carrying him bound and gagged all the way to Mos Illa. I'd hate to do it in the dark." Kastiel leaned back, swallowing the last bit of squill in her mouth.

"The Sand People would surely appreciate saying hello to you," the Lady laughed, even as she gestured towards one of her men.

"Yea, they proved real friendly as we were making our way here."

The Lady stared at her. "You fought Sand People to get here?"

Kastiel nodded. "Took the head of some chieftan called Bloodgouge. Tough bastard, too. But the bounty was pretty good. Those warriors even provided me a new piece of armor." Kastiel tapped the breastplate she was wearing, smiling as she regarded the thing's dull green and brown surface.

The mandalorians had called it _beskar_, said it was "real mandalorian armor, worthy of a true warrior". Kas had nodded solemnly at them, just before yanking off her old piece and donning the new one, right there in front of them. The one called Dorrik had approved, grunting at her, "Yea, it fits you. Good stuff." Mako had thumped her on the back, then, too, chirping, "Almost makes carrying that fellow's head back here worth it, huh, Kas?"

The Lady was still staring at her, frowning. "Sand People are hardy savages. I've never heard of someone fighting them so ably as to take down one of their toughest chieftans."

Kas nodded. "Yea, a real hard fight."

"Incredible," the Lady tapped her chin, perturbed as she considered that this incredible prize was certain to walk out her door in just a few moments. Walk out the door, because she was suddenly positive any further attempts to change that would have to involve violence. Violence that would almost certainly end with her lying dead on the floor. This hunter simply wasn't to be trifled with, she decided.

Which made it the worst sort of luck for the guard who came rushing into the room just then, because the Lady was already upset even before he rushed up to her. Might be why he took to trembling so hard, then. Although Kastiel's presence prevented any overt damage done to him. Kas imagined the Lady would take some delight in punishing him for being the bearer of bad news later on after she'd left.

Kas noticed but only barely, because she was biting her lip against the sheer amusement this Tyresius was so quick to provide her. "That slippery son of a bitch is really beginning to impress me, Mako," Kastiel muttered. Mako shook her head, "Only you'd be happy about this, Kas. Gods, you're weird."

"What do you mean the devaronian escaped? I watched you search him for hidden weapons myself!" The Lady was glaring at the hapless guard, who's hands were help up as he begged her.

"He had a false horn! There was a stun grenade stuffed inside his fucking head! Err, horn, I mean." He gulped, looking over at the bounty hunter and her companion, as if for safety. She only rolled her eyes back at him. "Please! Don't cripple me, Lady! It's not my fault!"

Kastiel shrugged then. "He got what he wanted. Just time enough to get away, time which your little game in the arena gave him."

The Lady was almost spitting, she was so obviously agitated. "He manipulated me! He maneuvered me into getting him away from you, so that he could slip away! He even made it look like I did it on purpose! I'll kill him for this humiliation!"

Kastiel frowned. "He's mine, in fact."

The guard grumbled. "He stole a swoop bike and a hyperdrive regulator. He could be anywhere."

Mako leaned forward, whispering, "The regulator. He has that old ship, only needed the regulator to get off world. He's making a run for it."

The Lady was actually stomping her slippered foot against the floor at this point. She pointed angrily towards one of her men, insisting he bring her a datapad. "Don't talk like you know anything, you fool! I had those bikes fitted with homing beacons for incidents like this, where some idiot guard might try to steal from me. That's what this is, too! You've stolen from me!"

"No! No, Lady, I didn't steal anything!"

"You let him get away, after I promised him as a prize! You've as much stolen from me as he has!"

"No! Please!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. "Excuse me. Can the two of you work this out some other time? I have a devaronian to catch and not a lot of time to do it."

"Oh, yes, hunter. You'll punish Tyresius Lokei for me, won't you? Promise me!"

Kastiel stared into the dark pools of the Lady's eyes. She pursed her lips. "Oh, he'll be sorry. Don't worry."

The Lady panted. "I think I could fall in love with you, hunter."

"Now there's a doomed relationship if ever I've heard of one. They'd write sonnets of the tragedy that comes of your unrequited love, Lady, really. Too bad."

The Lady pouted. "And now you're just breaking my heart."

"Tough."

* * *

**Notes of interest, from Wookiepedia:**

**(1) Morrts were parasitic insects that fed off gamorrean blood. They were actually status symbols among gamorreans, with rank in the gamorrean clans often demonstrated by how many morrts were crawling on a gamorrean at any given time. A gamorrean warlord usually had up to twenty of the bloodsuckers on him, while a mere tusker, an unmarried male, was often poor and only had about six of the insects on him. (And yes, that's purely gross. Their squeals during Karraga's Palace runs were bad enough, yikes.)**

**(2) Tatooine was once a lush world of water and jungles. It was invaded by the Rakatan Infinite Empire, who took its native inhabitants, the Kumumgah, as slaves. Eventually, the Kumumgah rebelled, and to punish them, the Rakata "glassed" the surface of the planet, using an orbital bombardment to fuse the silica in the planet's crust into glass. The glass eventually degraded into sand that covered the expanse of the planet. The surviving Kumumgah on the world eventually evolved to become two seperate races - the Ghorfas, or Sand People, and the Jawas.**

**(3) Bantha Blue Milk could be seen being poured by a young Luke Skywalker in early scenes of Episode 4 "A New Hope", during a meal he shared with his uncle and aunt. The milk had a particularly sweet taste and was popular in making yogurt, cheese, and ice cream. It was produced from Bantha cows, of course.**


	37. Chapter 36 -- Catch a devil by his horns

There were times that he almost ached for Devaron, with its cool rivers interspersing the landscape to create a misty backdrop to the mountains that circled its valleys. This moment – the one which had him stumbling against the hard and burning sand, so hot he felt the skin of his hands scorching even through the gloves he wore – this was the moment that took the cake. And the everlasting pie, too.

Tyresius grumbled as he jerked himself back to his feet, slapping the sand off of his gloves, "Maybe I should've married that banker's daughter when mother insisted on it. But nooooo … I had to go off and prove myself, show them all how damn independent I am. And look what it's won me. A busted up ship buried in a sand bowl under the hottest suns in the galaxy."

Not that his life hadn't been chock full of adventure, he reminded himself. There was something to be said for fooling so many of the craftiest Hutts. Oh, and walking away with so much of the wealth the Corellian Exchange called its own had proven a very satisfying, and lucrative, bit of business. It was riding on the wings of a smuggler's ship as she rained destruction on a Mandalorian blockade, though, that still worked to tantalize Tyresius' fondest dreams.

Other memories, though. Well, those Tyresius tried to forget. The people he'd left behind, the ones he'd loved and betrayed, the friends who now called him an enemy – well, all of that wasn't so sweet to think about. There was that holo message from Zale after he'd walked out on Hylo, the one where he promised, "You ever show your damn face anywhere I can see it, and I'm peeling the red skin off your ass, Tyresius, I swear it." Nothing like watching someone you'd cared about threaten to kill you. Especially when you knew they meant it, he thought.

Hylo never contacted him again, though. There was no message, no angry, bitter threats against his ass or horns or anything else. Just … nothing. And somehow that ended up being so much worse. Even if he did think at first it was better he'd never had to look in her eyes after that. The truth was, though, that he was left understanding the hurt had been that bad, that she refused to let him see it.

He was left to agonize, as the years slid by, with him running and skipping sometimes one step ahead of the hunters, everyone looking for a fabulous piece of the wealth it was said he possessed, wondering endlessly where she was, if she was okay, had they caught her already, were they looking for her. All that, and the worst, too, wondering did she hate him, still.

Well, he decided, snorting as he looked up at the huge expanse of cloudless sky with its two blistering suns skirting the horizon, she _should_ hate him. What else was there for him to expect, anyway?

No. He was all alone, nothing but a stupid engineering droid to keep him company. That and a … was that a monkey-lizard? Tyresius startled, his jaw dropping as he looked at the small dark-red beast hanging from the wing of his ship, a huge clump of wires dangling from its little prehensile paw as it cheerfully chomped on … something … important-looking … that had come from inside the ship's engines. "What the …? Hey, you, monkey-lizard! Knock it off!"

The creature jerked its attention to Tyresius. It spat out a piece of wire-mesh, giggling maniacally. Then it waved at him, before reaching back inside the ship's innards to yank at something else important-looking. Tyresius shouted at the thing, "Get out of there, damn you! MK! Get it!"

The engineering droid he'd commissioned years earlier rushed towards the edge of the starship's left wing, where the monkey-lizard was hanging half-in, half-out of the hatch leading to various engine parts. But it wasn't fast enough. Tyresius watched, horrified, as the small rodent-like creature began laughing as it climbed all the way into the ship's engine to get away from the droid, proceeding to yank, twist, and snarl its way all along the length of the wing.

Tyresius began running along the outside of the ship, banging on the sides to try and frighten the monkey-lizard into jumping out. But all he earned was still more chattering monkey-lizard calls and loud bursts of monkey-lizard laughter. Oh, and ripping sounds as the thing continued demolishing his ship's engine. The only satisfying part of the entire episode came when he heard a sizzle and then a muffled cry of pain coming from the little monster, as something electric in there popped and burned against its little body.

"Hah! Burn, you little scum sucker!" Tyresius cried out, gleefully. The monkey-lizard responded with a wild angry shriek. Then the bangs started. He realized the little beast was beating against the interior of the ship lining. For a moment, he was confused. Then he heard a sheering sound, as the monkey-lizard apparently managed to tear a hole into the actual living quarters of the ship. It shouted out some sort of victorious cry, then.

Tyresius gasped, running for the ramp that lead up into the ship. He activated the door, heard more loud sounds, complete with crashing, some glass breaking, and even fabric ripping. He yelped, running inside the small ship. But something hit him smack in the face just as he was rushing through the airlock into the ship's cargo hold, something wet and mushy. He gagged as it covered his mouth, muffling his choking cry of distress and anger. He felt scalding anger when the sound of yet more monkey-lizard laughter peeled through the air while dripping coolness ran down his face.

He pulled … whatever it was … off his face, dropping it onto the floor at his feet. Then his eyes bugged out. How the hell had the little beast known that was his favorite shirt? The purple one, with the fringed cuffs. The one Zale laughed his butt off to see him wearing during some crazy party back on Nar Shaddaa in much better days past. That little cretin had thrown his favorite shirt at him, after dunking it in what smelled like waster dispenser water down in the refresher!

"I'm going to kill you." Tyresius growled as he reached blindly for a blaster pistol, eyeing the bouncing monkey-lizard balefully. He could feel his skin burning hot with bitter rage, figured if smoke could pour from his ears it would right now. Even his horns felt like they were shaking, he was so enraged.

The monkey-lizard giggled, then, as it rushed towards him. Tyresius shouted, shooting his blaster madly as the little rodent approached. The bolts impacted against the floor of the ship, opening up even more holes across the way. The monkey-lizard laughed as it ran between Tyresius' feet, making its way through the door of the airlock and out of the ship. Tyresius screamed, "Come back here, you fiend! I'm going to shoot you! Like hell, you're getting away!"

He turned and rushed after the creature, emerging from the ship into the heat of the Tatooine day once again. He blinked as he looked around for the monkey-lizard, frantically searching for the thing, only to stop short when he finally spied her standing there.

Her boot was resting smoothly atop the metallic face of his engineering droid, with its body spitting out sparks and smoke from the now numerous blaster bolt holes dotting its surface, as she leaned back against the crate holding the various tools and implements he'd been using to install the stolen engine parts he'd taken from the Lady's compound. For just a moment, he stopped, wondering if he was only imagining the bounty hunter, there.

Then he saw the beast – that little monster of a monkey-lizard! – clambering over the sand to perch happily next to the hunter. She chirped some small sound at the thing, tossing it a piece of rancid meat, which it grabbed quickly and stuffed into its nasty little mouth. Tyresius growled at them both, especially when the hunter smirked over at him.

"All done in by a mere monkey-lizard. Watching you go at it so makes this hunt worth the chapped lips and sunburn." The bounty hunter clucked her tongue, smiling. That little cyborg companion of hers actually laughed outloud. Tyresius felt his cheeks turned even more red, the anger pouring through him. He began to raise his blaster once again. But the hunter stopped smiling all of a sudden, raising one gloved finger that she waved back and forth in his direction.

"Don't. You've been amusing me. Do something stupid, and that'll stop real quick. Piss me off, and I'll make this far more unpleasant than it needs to be." She spoke firmly, her pouty lips pressed firmly closed. Her little friend moved closer, her own blaster already yanked free and held loosely against her side.

"You sent a crazy little rat to wreck my ship!"

"Yep. Figured I'd make it perfectly clear you weren't running any further. So, has the message sunk in yet?"

"I hate you."

She leaned her head to the side, considering him with a somewhat bemused expression. "Why? No personal animosity in me, not for you. I'm just the tool they sent to make you pay for the stupidity you've spread all through the galaxy. Time to pay up, is all."

Tyresius suddenly felt old. And tired. More tired than he'd ever felt in the whole of his life. He felt an intense longing for the misty valleys of his youth. Or at least somewhere far away from where he was right then. Preferably somewhere more cool. He'd have liked to retire somewhere no one had ever heard the name Tyresius Lokei, in fact. Somewhere with mountains and lakes galore. He'd have enjoyed settling in some small cabin next to a lake. He'd go fishing maybe.

Instead, he was going to die, alone and miserable, at the mercy of a smart, audacious hunter. And her fucking monkey-lizard, too. He glared over at the thing, which was still happily munching on a piece of meat he could smell stinking all the way from where he stood.

"We could negotiate, hunter. Everything is negotiable. Come on!"

"You don't have anything I want."

"I have …"

"Tyresius. You're one more step towards victory in the Great Hunt. That's all. Without your head, I can't win. And that's all that I want right now. Do you understand?"

And that's when he finally broke. She told him years later it was a good thing he didn't start crying, because she hated when the targets cried, said, "They always think I'm going to feel sorry for them, or something. Instead, I just feel disgusted. By the time there's a hunter standing over you, you've already screwed up, screwed others - conned, cheated, lied, stolen, killed. I simply hate to see you crying and begging when you've already stupidly taken from so many others already, is all."

But Tyresius Lokei didn't cry. Not with tearful words of mercy. No more offers of credits and jewels he no longer held. He just looked at her, broken, and he begged her.

For a job.

* * *

"You didn't have to shoot me!"

Kastiel snorted at her newest crew member. "I told the Mandalorians I'd shoot you. You were shot. That pretty scar, there, will remind you I can shoot you again if need be."

He scowled, pointing at the crate resting on the trolley he was hauling behind his speeder. "You only needed to shoot _him_!" The dead body of his duplicate was inside the crate. He found it particularly morbid the hunter had made him manhandle it all the way back to Mos Illa.

"I shot _him_, too."

"Did the word 'only' escape your notice?"

Mako laughed. "Not much escapes her notice, actually. You may want to keep that in mind."

"Hey, I fixed you, didn't I?" Kas pointed towards his hip, where his belt had been pieced back together using twine salvaged from his now-abandoned starship. At least the thing still held his pants up. That way, no one could see the red mark of the wound where Kastiel had easily shot him right across the ass. There was something humiliating about knowing both of the blasted women he was trailing now had actually seen him with his ass pointed to the air, while the one who shot him worked at repairing the damage.

"I thought you were going to kill me!"

"Nope. I killed Tyresius Lokei." Kastiel leaned forward, suddenly intent as she looked at him. "I gave you a scar so you'd always remember he should _stay_ dead, Gault Rennow."

The Devaronian idly scratched his ass, feeling the skin pulling against the edges of the healing wound. "All right, all right. That's my cue to stay out of trouble, huh? I hear ya." Gault shook his head, glancing around at the various characters making their way through the sand-strewn streets of Mos Illa. He yanked on the trolley again, trying to ignore the thing he was pulling along. He wondered if she was trying to teach him something by making him do the work of transporting his own sort of dead self. She didn't seem to be overly upset as she went along, though, even if passerby looked away as she walked by with such a grisly burden.

Then again, she was a bounty hunter. Hauling a dead body into the spaceport seemed pretty much par for the course when it came to bounty hunting, he supposed. Not that he imagined her to be overly typical a bounty hunter, either. Kastiel Blade was sharp as a whip, quick to use whatever resource she had at her disposal, obviously. "Damn monkey-lizard," he muttered. Although such motions displayed a pretty amazing level of tactical appreciation, an ability to size up an opponent, a potential battlefield, and then manuever them best towards their ultimate defeat. And her work on his ass earlier proved she was pretty deft when it came to battlefield medicine, too.

She wasn't bad on the eyes, either. Which is how he explained his willing and utterly satisfying appraisal of the curves of her backside as she moved along in front of him. Her armor circled her thighs, with a single plate that descended from her breastplate to cover her groin area. But that left her ass clearly outlined by the snug fit of her pants. Actually, Gault thought, she had quite a few truly impressive curves. Her breasts, for instance. Her armor covered her chest in hard mandalorian iron, with tones of green and brown etching across it. But even that much iron wasn't able to hide the generous size and shape of her breasts.

If he were any other fellow, he might be tempted to see what she looked like with all that armor stripped off and tossed aside. Actually, he admitted, he wouldn't really mind seeing what she looked like buck-naked, even being the newly-named Gault Rennow. He was never a man anyone would call a prude, after all. Nor one of those religious zealots who disdained a good, healthy bout of sex every now and then, either.

But Gault sensed the truth of things in regards his pretty bounty hunter killer-turned-employer. Mostly because she didn't look _back_ at him, he mentally shrugged. Maybe she was married, he pondered. But it was more than that, too. It was a feeling he had, that, for him, Kastiel would always be more of a Zale Barrows than a Hylo Vysz. And let's face it, Gault thought. There was never going to be a replacement for Hylo, not for him. Zale? Maybe. Kastiel was someone he'd rather have as a friend than a lover, is all.

Still, he enjoyed watching her ass as she walked along in front of him. He caught sight of the little cyborg female, then. She was called Mako, he remembered. Oh, and she was shaking her head at him. He shrugged at her, "What? Can't I just look?"

Kas didn't even look back around at the two of them. Three, if you counted the genetically-engineered duplicate made very much dead that Gault was pulling behind him. "Look at what?" She asked.

Mako smiled at Gault. "You can look all you want. It's the closest you're going to get."

"Hey, don't think I can't get it, if I really wanted it. Most people end up liking me, trust me. I have a very natural charm. You may have seen some of it in action, in fact." Gault's voice was like syrup, and Mako actually chuckled.

"I'm just saying you're not her type."

"Oh? Is it a he's-an-ugly-red-alien-with-horns sort of thing?"

Mako frowned, but Kastiel stopped and looked back then. "You've got to admit, Gault. Your nose is really really pointed. So's your chin. And you've got no hair. The horns hardly make up for it."

"You're breaking my heart, dear lady, believe me."

Kastiel laughed at him, then. He watched the way her humor enlivened her dark eyes, made them glimmer, even. Almost like looking at gems that're pulled free from rich brown soil, he thought. "I think your heart was long since broken. And not by me. Ply your charms on some other female, okay? I'll sick Quinnie on you if you keep looking at my ass."

Gault shuddered, looking over at the monkey-lizard currently engaged in stealing what appeared to be a piece of jerked dewback meat from one of the vendors who's table was set up just outside the spaceport. "Shoot me again, first, please. Not sure I'm ever going to forgive that beast."

Mako chuckled. "Quinnie does seem to enjoy tormenting those of the male persuasion, huh, Kas?"

Kastiel considered, lowering her chin as she watched her monkey-lizard running back towards her with a piece of meat clutched in its paws with a burly vendor chasing after it. She waved her hand towards the harassed fellow yelling at her pet, chuckling when he stopped at the sight of her armored appearance, complete with her blasters tucked against her side. He stood there, though, glaring at the monkey-lizard, who sat down and began to eat the meat it had stolen. "I bet he's just twisted enough a creature, to enjoy how easily upset so many men really are."

Gault's lips twitched as he tried not to laugh, which proved difficult, since Mako was laughing herself silly. He sighed, instead, "You call what that animal does to men _easy_? Although it does seem a bit funnier when it's someone else on the receiving end, now that I think on it." He watched as Kas stepped forward to offer the agitated vendor a bit of payment for the trouble he'd endured.

Gault and Mako continued moving through the doors of the spaceport, listening to Kas as she reprimanded the monkey-lizard even as she walked along behind them. Mako turned to say something to Kas, so that her back was to the doorway. She was short enough the Sith probably never really saw her before he plowed right into her back, sending her stumbling forward. Mako only just saved herself from tumbling into the sand on her hands and knees, spinning around to glare at whoever had pushed her, instead and huffing out, "Hey!"

The dark red skin of the Pureblood's face pulled taut as he leaned forward, glaring right back at her. "You were in my way," he intoned, his voice laden with that damn power so many Sith seemed inclined to display openly. Gault gulped, certain he was going to see the little cyborg burned to a crisp by some sort of flaming attack. Electricity, maybe. Something bad, anyway.

Gault tried saving the situation. "Well, no harm done. Was good to bump into you. Huh, Mako? Right, Mako? Mako?"

Mako crossed her arms across her small chest. "Maybe you should've been watching where you were going."

The Sith Lord was actually surprised. He reared back only a bit, his narrow, deepset red eyes flaring as he regarded the tiny female. "You're a rather bold creature, I see. You do realize I could destroy you as easily as step on a bug, do you not?"

Mako shrugged. "There are a great many bugs that can provide even a Sith a nasty sting. Try it."

The Sith smiled, then, his thin lips quirking into a twisted shape. "Indeed. I apologize, little bug, for not considering your small form in my path before I stepped on you."

Mako grinned. "I'll actually take that apology in the spirit it was offered. And welcome to the sandpit of the galaxy - Tatooine."

"Thank you. Is this place your home, then?"

"Hell, no! Can't get off this planet fast enough. Right, Kas?"

The Sith looked over, watching as the bounty hunter stepped closer to her people. That explained the corpse, he thought, glancing at the box the Devaronian was pulling only briefly before regarding the hunter who'd apparently taken her target. She was … familiar. He ghosted his gaze across her features, considering, reaching out through the Force. He saw her lips press tight, knew she only vaguely sensed his force abilities at work and that she didn't like it, that she was hiding something from him. A strong will, he thought. A warrior. And a dangerous one. He was impressed.

"Bounty hunter. And a successful one at that. It's an honor to meet a worthy warrior here on this rather remote world." He inclined his head, respectfully, in a gesture that surprised them all. "I am Lord Praven."

She grunted. "Kastiel Blade. You're stepping on my crew in a hurry to get onto this dustbowl of a world. What's the rush?" She subtly gestured, and Mako fell behind her smoothly. Gault grunted, leaning his hip against the cart so that his hands were free to grab at his weapon, a rifle, that he'd slung across his back. Praven watched the smooth motion of the process with an assessing gaze, before making a small sound that sounded approving.

"I come seeking revenge. Your business on this world is concluded, I take it," Praven waved a beefy red hand towards the crate containing the not-so-lamented Tyresius Lokei. Kastiel shrugged.

"Would that be a good thing, do you think?"

"It would."

"Then it would be best if you stopped knocking my people on their backsides so we could move ourselves along."

Lord Praven inclined his head, his lips twitching once again. "Apologies, of course. The best of luck in your future endeavors."

"Same."

Kastiel watched as the Sith Pureblood almost flowed around her little party, moving out of the doorway into the heated light of the Tatooine day. She noticed that her monkey-lizard made no motion or sound that might antagonize the Sith, just staying quiet next to the cart as the Sith walked away. He didn't even throw something at the man, a real record where the monkey-lizard was concerned. Ah, self-preservation at work, she thought, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Then she glanced at Mako, one of her dark eyebrows arched high.

"You have a real habit of knocking yourself into Sith, Mako. I may have to start listing that as one of your innate talents. Sith beacon! I'll toss you out there and they come walking into you!"

Gault followed them as they continued moving into the spaceport, grumbling, "That's a damn curse, is what that is. Damn Sith could've sliced my horns off. Or worse. Doomed is what I am. Following after crazies on a doomed, cursed course, is all. She was right. I am stupid."


	38. Chapter 37 -- Insane with you

**Holotransmission from ****_Freedom's Way_**** – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Primeday at 1826 hours – recipient Mako**

… So there we were, in this cave, facing down a crime boss, who's apparently utterly fascinated with Risha. I told you about Risha, right? She's got her eye on the captain but Gaib treats her pretty much like he treats every female. I mean, it's not like he's even dishonest with them. But I don't get the feeling he really cares much once he's back on the ship. Not sure how he's going to end up with Risha, though, since she's on the ship, too, and he can't just leave her behind when he's ready to move on.

… But anyway. So Gaib, he looks right at that crime boss and just outright plays him! He has him caught right between – get this! – a Jedi and a Sith! So they're battling it out right there, with this gangster fellow hopping mad between them. It was a sight!

… We've decided Tatooine is pretty much our favorite planet so far. We may come back here when we both need a break. Hope it's soon.

… So … uh … you going to be freed up for some down time soon?

**Holotransmission from ****_Bad Boy_**** – sender Mako – current location [redacted] – received Taungsday at 1409 hours – recipient Corso Riggs**

… Oh, gods, I so need a vacation! Kas mentioned that earlier, too, how funny! Although I'm pretty sure that if I asked her to go back to Tatooine for a vacation, she'd haul off and shoot me. She hated it from the first moment we stepped out of the spaceport!

… But I swear this Hunt is wearing us down. We feel like we've been at this forever!

… Gault, damn it! I'm using the holo right now! Find someone else to bother, and, no, I don't care how bored you are!

**Holotransmission from ****_Freedom's Way_**** – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Taungsday at 1743 hours – recipient Mako**

… Who's Gault?

**Holotransmission from ****_Bad Boy_**** – sender Mako – current location [redacted] – received Zhellday at 0952 hours – recipient Corso Riggs**

… Trust me. You don't ever want to know Gault. He's nothing but a pain in the butt Devaronian we happened to pick up and haul aboard back on Tatooine. For some strange reason, Kas thought he might prove useful. Who knows?

… I'm still trying to figure out where the pieces to my implants were manufactured. Kas is kind of leery of me poking into too many systems, though, and she has a point about being careful. It seems like every time I find some hint or clue about where I might have come from, there's a wall thrown into place, as if the information is being handed out piecemeal. Kinda like a bread trail, maybe.

… What if I'm being herded into place? And why?

… Do you miss me?

**Holotransmission from ****_Freedom's Way_**** – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Benduday at 0823 hours – recipient Mako**

… So this fellow named Carteri was in the cantina on Nar Shaddaa. You remember the one, right? He comes up to me with a picture of this girl, looked almost exactly like you! Kept calling her Coral and insisted that was you. It was complete nerf shit, of course. Shoulda seen him running when Gaib said he'd shoot his ass if he didn't haul jets. Called him a spook and said it was an all round smelly bit of mess.

… And yea. Sometimes I tell myself this is completely insane. But still.

… Just be careful.

**Holotransmission from ****_Bad Boy_**** – sender Mako – current location [redacted] – received Benduday at 1124 hours – recipient Corso Riggs**

… She looks just like me! She has to be my sister! There's no other explanation, gods! I could have this whole family out there. What if they're looking for me? What if I ended up on the streets because they lost me and they've been looking all this time? I'm just so stunned and excited.

… It's so hard not to rush at finding out everything I can, but Kas is like you, keeps telling me how I have to be careful. Kinda hard to prod too much or too fast when you have this tough bounty hunter looming over your back every time you start at it.

… I keep reminding myself I've come too far to lose now.

… Did I mention I like being insane with you?

**Holotransmission from ****_Freedom's Way_**** – sender Corso Riggs – current location [redacted] – received Taungsday at 0952 hours – recipient Mako**

… Do you remember that café where you first saw me? Be there this afternoon, okay?

… Leave the monkey-lizard with Gault.

**Holotransmission from _Bad Boy_ - sender Gault Rennow - current location [redacted] - received Bendusday at 1205 hours - recipient Corso Riggs**

... We've yet to have the privilege of meeting. Have no worries, though! It will happen soon enough! I'm told that you once had a monkey-lizard tear your scalp to shreds. I'm just sending you this message to let you know it wasn't bad enough and you deserve a much truer agony than that! Tell me how you'd feel if that monkey-lizard had been let loose on you, while you were trying to sleep, huh?

... I have to live here, dammit! I mean it! If I try to leave, Kas will shoot me in the ass. Again!

... I just wanted you to know why I was punching you in the face the first time we're introduced. Hope the past couple of days you've spent in a sexual haze, I'm sure, were really worth it.

... Tell Mako I put the monkey-lizard in _her_ quarters this morning. Along with some of his favorite food.


	39. Chapter 38 -- It's time

He'd been fighting his way out of obscurity, aching to make a place for himself, somewhere he belonged. Abandoned to the streets of his home planet, left to starve – he'd fought hard.

There was a savagery inherent to the streets of every city, anyway. It was a flesh and bone fight for survival and it never had any respect for anyone - didn't care how young you were, how big or small you were, nor whether you were male or female. No, it picked you up and spit you back out and all you could hope for was that you retained some semblance of humanity in the process.

Hedarr Soongh won his place, emerging from the Great Hunt the Grand Champion, and then he held it firm, and never mind how young he was when he did it. He'd proven himself a Mandalorian of honor, the youngest ever to do so, a mere stripling boy of fifteen. And he'd never backed down from that honor, held fiercely to it, let it define him the whole of his life since. He didn't set it aside for anything or anyone, not for any man or woman and no matter the prize or reward that he was offered to do so.

He'd burned, rather, to show the worlds everywhere that he was better than the gutter trash his mother had called him as she walked away from him, there, in that long ago dark alleyway. The Mandalore himself called Hedarr friend, and he honored that respect wholly, with all that he did.

That's why he breathed out a tired sigh as he regarded the two warriors in front of him, although both of them continued talking. He looked away, across the passageway, looked at the press of fighters, hunters, and warriors bustling through the hallways of the Enclave, thinking.

"You should've seen her, Hedarr. Sweat rolling off her face, blood splattered across her armor. She pulled on the _beskar_ we gave her without hesitating, without wiping the blood from her own skin, even. Then she just marched off to find her real target. Didn't even slow down. It was beautiful, I'm telling you." Dorrik's voice was heavy, solid, his admiration of the hunter intense.

"I'd fight alongside her any day. Any Mando would, if they were smart." Gezda rumbled out his agreement, as well. Hedarr glanced at him, his eyebrows arching in surprise. There were some who wondered if Gezda was a mute, he so rarely spoke his thoughts. That he did so now, in relation to this particular hunter, made what he said all the more impressive.

Not that there hadn't been countless whispers and rumors about this hunter. The Huntmaster started watching her even before she truly won a place in the Great Hunt, growling out several choice words when Gratta came back from Hutta with holorecordings of her team's destruction. He'd called it shameful, even if he agreed with Gratta that no real rule of the Hunt was violated.

Hedarr had still burned with the shame of watching someone he'd fought aside, taught and trained, guided – watching as that warrior acted without honor shamed him.

Tarro Blood. He'd followed Hedarr away from battle on Alderaan, his eyes burning with enthusiasm. He'd insisted to Hedarr he wanted to follow the Mandalorian code, to live by Mandalorian honor, that such a life was all he wanted, desired. To prove it, he'd disdained his inheritance, the wealth and privilege that marked his youngest years.

Hedarr realized, watching those images, that Tarro only wanted glory, not honor. He wanted backslaps and admiration from his comrades, rather than to truly stand alongside them as equals. He really did want privilege and only hid and deceived as to what that privilege really was. Not wealth but accolades. Not honor, either. But shame. And it marked all those who should've seen it beforehand, even if the Huntmaster and Mandalore both insisted otherwise.

"There comes a point, Hedarr, where we accept that those we lead and teach will still have to act no matter which way we pointed them towards. That they choose different than we taught – well, that's not for us to make." The Huntmaster had growled, his Wookie voice rumbling sadly.

"And Gratta's pointed out the hunter didn't back down or give up, Hedarr. She's come to Dromund Kaas, she's fighting to win, even against such obstacles. Truly impressive, don't you think?" Mandalore had stood there, shaking his head in fascination.

Hedarr had agreed, nodding as he leaned over the holoterminal. "I'll be watching her."

And he did. He watched her with vivid interest. She was no rapacious killer, no sadistic animal bent as much on self-destruction as anything else. She was calculating, rather. She would size up an opponent and then take them down with precise and methodical care. She took it personally when others were harmed or destroyed along the way, too, marking it as a personal failure. Her protection of her own people involved an almost brutal tenacity, in fact.

Hedarr almost felt sorry for Tarro Blood being the focus of that level of terrible resolve. Almost. And only because he remembered Tarro's early enthusiasm and excitement, the bright, burning thrill he showed whenever he fought. But he would soon be overwhelmed, Hedarr knew. Fervor like this hunter, this Kastiel was showing – that determination wouldn't be overcome except by an even greater determination. And Tarro didn't have what it would take, probably never did.

None of which changed Hedarr's shame, either. He'd not suffer the indignity any further. Honor demanded that he act.

* * *

"She's not one of us! She's not Mandalorian! It'll take more than a few fancy moves against dummy Imperials and crazed assassins before I'm impressed." Jogo's voice carried over the gathered warriors, all of them pressing into the circle of the sparring ring, sweat dripping from countless brows while throats gulped down various fluids.

Torian shook his head. "She fights well, Jogo. Fights with honor, too. There's no shame that she wasn't born among us."

Jogo glared over at him. "Only an _aru'tal_ would so completely misunderstand what it takes to be a real Mandalorian."

"Having fought so many times to prove my honor has taught me how deeply precious it is, rather." Torian shook his blonde head, so that the sweat dripping from his scalp could drop to the sand-strewn surface of the floor. Several murmurs of agreement went through the group, then, and Jogo scowled, especially when Dev thumped Torian on the back.

"There aren't many warriors more honorable, either. I'd fight with you through anything, Torian." Dev raised his chin towards Jogo. "If Torian thinks she's worthy, I'd tend to agree. Besides, everyone knows if she survives the Hunt, she'll probably be taken into one of the Clans. Word is, several Clans are already vying for her. Even Ordo has mentioned taking her."

"Tarro Blood says he'll defeat her!" Several calls and shouts echoed that sentiment, too. Torian frowned, listening. Tarro Blood had visited the Enclave several times over the past months, moving among the warriors, whispering here and there. He spoke of his competitors with disdain, insisting he would triumph over all of them. But he was particularly virulent in his castigation of the hunter from Hutta.

"She's a mongrel, nothing but a baseborn whelp. She's worth nothing, not even a good fucking. She should've been drowned at birth! Someone must've thought so, too. Did you see her face? I'm surprised she's willing to show herself out of doors!"

Torian had been disgusted by the Mandalorian's ranting diatribes, until he finally avoided him every time he saw him approach. Tarro Blood reminded Torian of a bitter weed, one of those that spread rot in even the most thriving thatches of grain. He just exuded dishonor, until it seemed so much a part of him, like there was nothing else to him. That he wore the mantle of any Mandalorian clan was offensive.

Dev leaned closer to Torian, then, whispering, "I heard it was Tarro Blood that warned Kastiel Blade's target on Tatooine, sent the Devaronian running to escape her and made her hunt all the harder."

Torian cocked his head to the side, considering. "Yet she succeeded, even with such challenges. There'll come a day when Jogo can't say she's no Mandalorian."

Dev nodded. "I think she's going to kill Tarro Blood. They say she's determined to make him pay for the deaths he brought to her people back on Hutta, that there was an old man she cared for among them. It's personal for her."

Torian knew what it was to defend, had fought endlessly to belong and cherished those who called him friend and brother, as a result. "If he dies by her hand, it will be a good death. Honorable. He should be grateful for that much."

"I don't believe he'd ever see it the way you do, Torian." Dev grinned, then.

"I don't believe that much of him, either." Torian looked up when Jogo began yelling again. He barely listened, though. At least not to Jogo. Several warriors were bantering back and forth with stories about the dark-haired hunter he was truly interested in, rather, and he hunkered down to hear what they had to say. Dev crouched next to him, and they listened.

On Balmorra, she'd killed the Imperial who used her to undermine his own people for personal gain. "Shot him straight in the chest, I heard. They said he actually cried real tears as he died! Not even an ounce of bravery."

On Nar Shaddaa, she'd beat an assassin, marking his face with the metal he'd pulled from a young man's face, earlier. "Isn't keen on Nar Shaddaa. I've heard she doesn't like Hutts too much. No, not even after being sponsored by one. Did you hear what Nem'ro did to her on Hutta?"

On Tatooine, she'd fought a wild, maddened native, a chieftan to the Sand People, there. "He tried running into one of their caves. But she followed him. Came back out clutching his damn head. Dorrik met her in the outpost nearby, said she didn't even wash his blood off before fighting a Gamorrean in an Exchange arena!"

The stories flew, hot and wild, as each Mandalorian tried sharing yet another tale about the compelling bounty hunter. Torian remembered her, there in the melee – the way she'd moved, responded, turned and jumped, the way her dark hair tumbled against her jaw and her armor twisted against her frame, and the way she'd held her arm up in victory there at the end. He dropped his chin, lowering his gaze to the ground as the warriors debated, arguing which clan she'd belong to, which warrior she'd take as her own.

"Ordo wants her! There's no way she'd turn them down!"

"I think it will come down to which _aliit_ the hunter herself chooses, not so much which one will take her."

"Yea, there are several eyeing her carefully."

"You're all fools. What it will come down to is which one she calls mate and husband. It will be _his_ clan name she takes up as her own. Mark my words."

Several of the more experienced warriors nodded sagely, grumbling agreement. Torian looked away as the younger men began arguing which of them could entice the hunter, then. He'd admitted to himself he was interested in her, had watched and listened to the course she was taking in the Great Hunt long enough to recognize his desire to get closer to her, even. But … Torian looked around him at the circle of warriors crouched there, some of them pointing their fingers back and forth to emphasize their points of argument.

What worth could he offer her when his name only invited ridicule and scorn?

Torian clenched his jaw tightly shut, before backing away from the group. Dev watched him stand back, nodded briefly when Torian motioned towards the nearby living quarters. He went alone towards the refresher stalls, intent on washing the sweat and dust from his frame. He shook his head as he moved, his determination settling.

Corridan was right. "It's time, Torian. Trust me. Move to prove yourself, clear your name. Show them all! Show them that Jicoln is dead and _you_ are a real Cadera."

* * *

**Only a few words this time around:**

**_beskar_ - mandalorian iron. also, armor**

**_aru'tal_ - traitor's blood**

**_aliit_ - clan name or identity. also, family**


	40. Chapter 39 -- New Places, Old Memories

Kastiel quirked an eyebrow at Gault. She'd noticed he had a habit of rubbing against the jagged edges of his broken horn when he was pondering something bothersome. She followed his gaze now, as he looked across the vendor table at some bolts of fabric, swaths of pale pink and lavender strewn haphazardly across the surface, most of it twinkling with silvery threads in the early morning sunlight. The stuff was pretty enough, she supposed.

She nudged hard against the Devaronian's shoulder, so that he nearly stumbled against the table. "Please tell me you're not looking to really hang curtains on the ship, Gault."

He blinked at her, looking confused for a moment. Then he smiled, shrugging. "Hey, I already told you that _Bad Boy_ of yours needs some spiffing up. You'd never know a couple of women bunked there for nearly a year now, sheesh." He pointed. "Come on! Don't you think that pink fabric would highlight the colors in your quarters?"

Kas laughed. "Well thanks for assuring me you've never set foot in my quarters, at least." She leaned over the table, considering. Then she pushed aside the glittery-looking fabrics, pulling against a length of fabric almost hidden beneath the stuff. She heard Gault sigh oh so subtly, saw out of the corner of her eye that he looked away, as if to ignore the deep purple fabric she was handling. He eventually huffed when Mako called out to them from across the way, insisting they come and try something called a "smoothie".

"I'd better check on her, before she falls over the damn bar," Gault mumbled.

Kastiel watched as he ambled away. She rubbed against the implants under her eyes, thinking. Then she motioned towards the vendor, a human wearing a pinched look on his face that seemed terribly common on Alderaan. "This material, here. I want you to make a shirt from this, something that will fit that Devaronian, there. The cuffs should flare out, with fringes hanging from them. Just so, see? Can you do it?"

The man insisted on a truly steep price for the item, far more than anyone would've expected to pay, even here on Alderaan. Kastiel only glared at him, her arms going up to cross against her chest. He gulped as he took in the tense expression on her face, then offered a much much lower number. He sighed when the bounty hunter nodded sullenly before handing over the credits, feeling grateful when she turned and prepared to leave. He didn't even argue when she described the absolute insane timetable for him to complete the work before she returned to retrieve her purchase. Just bit his tongue and assured her it'd be done.

And it would, even if he had to get his sons into the shop to help, dammit! Anything but face that woman's anger again, he thought, shuddering.

Kastiel entered the tiny cantina, glancing around for Mako and Gault. She saw them perched on bench towards the back wall of the place. But she was suddenly pushed from behind, as another patron shoved his way through the doorway.

"Watch out, you! I'm here for my morning repast, and you're in my way!" The young man actually held his nose up into the air, sneering at her with pure unmitigated snobbery. Kastiel almost laughed, he looked so absurd standing there, rubbing against his chest where he'd run up against her armored back. She canted her head as she regarded him.

"Bit early in the day for you to be acting so much an ass, don't you think?"

"How dare you! I am Chrimar Noven, a nobleman of Alderaan. No miserable upstart from the Empire should dare address me, let alone with such disrespect."

"Take it up with an Imperial, not me. All they do is pay me when it's necessary. You looking to make it necessary?" She tapped a slim finger against the barrel of one of her blasters, arching one dark eyebrow as she looked back at him.

"What? Pay you? For what? You're nothing but a pathetic slave to the Empire, in fact! You do as you're told! You …" He might have continued ranting, if he hadn't stopped long enough to really look at her just then. He actually blanched. Not surprising. Her armor and weapons made it perfectly clear what sort of work she did for the Empire, anyway. Mister-Obviously-Clueless Chrimar Noven was just a bit slow to realize it, apparently. "Are you threatening me? Great gods, what happened to your face? Disgusting!"

She tightened her lips, her dark eyes going cold and hard suddenly. "Not threatening you yet, no. I could, though. Who'd stop me?"

"What?" He turned a mottled shade of red, then, and darted frightened eyes around the cantina, as if looking for a place to escape. "I am above such threats. You have no reason to antagonize me! I'm here for tea with my companions. Leave me be!"

"Well, you better get to it, rather than running into my backside." Kastiel watched as the fool scampered away like the little rodent he was. Picturing him with a scrawny tail tucked between his legs was the only thing that kept her from shooting him as he went, but he'd pretty much ruined her breakfast, regardless. She ignored the smoothie Mako pushed towards her as studiously as she ignored the angry looks the little cyborg tossed at the prissy nobleman across the room.

She tried blaming it all on the fruit. It was too sweet, too slushy. Who ate such a sticky mess so early in the morning, she pondered aloud. Gault only smiled as he slurped down some of the orange-colored glop. Kastiel gave him a fake little chuckle as he smirked at her. It all proved such a futile effort, in the end.

"Perhaps it would be best if you vacated the table, mistress. If you're not hungry, that is." The unctuous tones of the server dragged at the edges of Kastiel's pitiful level of patience with the entire population of the planet right then. She glared at the man, her jaw clenched tight as she argued with herself against bashing in his face with a hard gloved fist.

The memory ghosted along the edges of her mind, a single voice skittering there, like a maddened bug dragging its shattered legs behind it just after it's been stepped on. "_You shouldn't be here, you don't belong. Get off with you, you filthy little brat!_"

Kastiel glared. But she nodded, "Yep, you're right. This place isn't for me." Then she rose quickly to her feet, turning to leave without a single backwards glance. Mako's jaw dropped, even as she jumped up to follow the bounty hunter.

Gault watched them go. He sat there another few moments, staring mournfully at his half-finished glass of orange sweetness. He sighed, "Ah, well. Back to work, I suppose." He almost ran into someone as he approached the door, though. Figures he would bump into an Imperial, no less. The man's blue eyes barely blinked, even, as he assessed Gault, standing there. "Crap, I really do have the luck of a Bantha these days," he blurted, still staring at the man.

"Sounds like you've visited Tatooine, if you speak of Banthas. My sincerest condolences, if that's the case." A Sith stepped through the door, obviously following the Imperial. Gault's eyes narrowed as he considered her. She had dark hair, black like the Imperial's. But her eyes were deep brown pools, sweet-looking eyes. Like melting candy. Not that he doubted for a moment how dangerous she was, more dangerous even than the officer who stepped closer to her. Protective fellow, he thought.

"Yes, miserable planet, Tatooine. I'm trying to forget all about it, trust me. Alderaan at least has better food. Try the smoothies, if you get a chance." He glanced back at their abandoned table, noticed his glass had disappeared. Down the drain, damn it.

"I'm not terribly interested in a meal at the moment." She shrugged a small, curved shoulder in his direction. The Imperial rumbled under his breath, something about when she'd last eaten. The Sith calmly accepted the man's apparent admonishment, amazingly, considering she was Sith. Her dark eyes even glinted with amusement.

Gault felt his mouth drop open as he took in that look in her eyes. Such … _familiar_ eyes. He snapped his mouth shut, but not soon enough. She tilted her head sideways, eyeing him carefully as she registered his shock and surprise. But he only looked past the two humans, eyeing the door. He coughed. "Really need to be moving along. If I were you, I'd avoid those young noblemen, there, in the corner."

The Imperial narrowed his eyes as he looked towards the young men leaning over the table, talking animatedly to each other. "They don't appear particularly dangerous."

Gault shrugged. "Didn't say they were. But they're not friendly towards Imperials, either. Ranted quite a bit at my employer about the work she does for the Empire. Wasn't an overly nice exchange."

"I see." There was no more amusement in the Sith's eyes, Gault noticed. Right then, she suddenly looked … quite as dangerous as he knew a Sith could be. He watched as she stepped around them both, although the Imperial followed along behind her. She moved very purposefully towards those young men in the corner, her intention cold and precise.

Gault decided that was a really good time to leave.


	41. Chapter 40 -- Thought MY family was bad

Raffid's thin lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. He ran one slim finger under the girl's chin, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. "Now, dear one. Trust me. You know that I'll take care of everything, of you. I'm only sending you to the estate to keep you safe and well. I'll meet you there within the week, I promise."

The girl sniffed back her frightened tears, giving him a watery smile. "I do trust you, I do. I'll see you, then. In a week. All right, I'll travel there immediately."

"Very good. Now run along, my dear. And remember. Don't speak to my father of this. He can't know anything, until after we've wed. Once it's done, there will be no way he can stop our love." Raffid kept his smile in place as the small serving girl nodded naively before rushing from the alcove where he'd dragged her after her little bombshell of an announcement.

"You're such a bore, brother."

Raffid spun around, scowling when his sister emerged from the shadows of a nearby doorway. "What, Aitalla. Are you going to run and tattle now? Please. Remind me we're still small children needling at each other in the courtyard, by all means."

"I'm simply tantalized by the thought of you – Lord Raffid Girard himself, no less! – a father! My my, but we have come so far since those days in the courtyard, hmmm?"

"And you call me a bore, Aitalla." Raffid offered his sister a dramatic yawn, even as they proceeded down the hallway towards the gathering in the main rooms. The civil war might have made House Girard much more vulnerable, enough they'd abandoned their traditional estates in lieu of a safer place at the Thul Palace, but that didn't mean Alderaan's best families shunned them, either. Parties and celebrations continued, no matter where they were.

"You're sending the girl to our estate, Raffid. You know very well you can't join her at any point in the near future. You're abandoning her to the cruelties of fate! It's really quite dramatic." Aitalla's voice conveyed an utter lack of real interest, a mere moment's break in the tedium of her day. Just a bit of pestering, nothing that even worked to unsettle the ennui that marked most of her days since they'd come to the Thul Palace.

Raffid sighed. "What can you expect, though? She's nothing. A bit of fluff that I sampled when nothing else was available. You can't really think I'd actually marry the girl."

"You must admit, it would make for some fascinating turns at the dinner table, if you were to try. Can you imagine Uncle's reaction?" Aitalla loosed a bitter laugh at the thought. "Mind you, I think it dreadfully boring of you, to sample the serving girls here at the Palace. Come now, brother. It's hardly even a challenge. That girl probably ran into your bed, anyway."

"We can't all be as you, Aitalla. Who was it last week? Did you get Gevin Thul to leave his wife for you, hmm? Your little games are as tiresome as my own, really."

"You only say that, because you've never really had someone who's attentions required true effort. A real challenge, Raffid. Oh, they are so much fun, when they finally succumb! To win such a game is utterly delicious."

"Perhaps I'm simply more attractive than you are, sister. And that's why I don't _need_ a challenge," Raffid laughed just as they joined their uncle. Heitor was telling another one of his boring stories, the ones where he was so much better than everyone else around him. Dreary nonsense, of course.

Aitalla leaned over one last time, whispering into her brother's ear, "There will come a point where some female will not give you the time of day, you'll be so much meaningless to her. We'll see how you feel after that, won't we?"

"There is no such female, Aitalla. Now stop it."

Aitalla laughed lightly, barely interested, apparently. Raffid only shook his head, turning to pay attention to their incredibly dull uncle, rather. "…so I cuffed the whelp for scuffing my boot! I mean, truly, who could tolerate such utter incompetence? And then … ergh … Abominable! Who let that creature in here?"

Raffid turned to regard the door Heitor was watching with wide, incredulous eyes, saw the creature his Uncle was referring to, the incredibly _female_ creature, and felt a sudden vivid reaction to her appearance, felt his scrotum tighten and his cock harden as he looked at her – from the hard, rough tread of her booted feet, up to the blasters tucked against her delightfully curved hips, and across the iron-plated swell of her gorgeous breasts. Her face was a lamentable mess of scars and implants, but even that only served to mark her as a forbidden fruit of sorts, a tantalizing concoction of danger and threat, this mercenary soldier, this bounty hunter. Having her would serve to drive his family to histrionics! All that, and a perfect female form he'd delight in pulling underneath him, dominating, controlling.

He gasped, reminded himself to breathe. Oh, and utterly ignored his sister's cool chuckle from nearby, too. He took several deep breaths as she walked through the door, sliding her gaze around the place, with all of the most noble characters in the Palace gathered together in showy splendor. Another small dark-skinned woman stepped inside close behind her, whispering something that had the hunter glancing back to confer, just as a Devaronian joined them. Companions, then. Or servants, more like.

This was no peahen female, like all the rest he'd long since become bored playing with here on Alderaan. This woman was fascinating to Raffid, actually, and he determined to have her, to use her. He almost rubbed his hands together in eagerness. His malaise of weeks past was soon to end, and he couldn't wait.

He crossed his arms across his chest, thrusting his lean hip out in a flashy seductive motion just as she reached them. Her dark-eyed gaze encompassed them all, sliding from his sister and uncle, to finally consider him. He addressed her, his tone a low and charming drawl of sound, even as his gaze ran up and down her frame interestedly. "My, my. What have we here?"

She glanced at him, giving him an appraising look. Then … nothing! He was suddenly confused, floundered as she turned back to his uncle, rather. Raffid heard his sister smothering back another chuckle, enough that he tossed her an angry glare. "I'm looking for someone in charge. Is that you?" the hunter said.

"I am Vicebaron Heitor, rather. My nephew, Duke Zacar Girard, rather, will soon put you in your place. You don't belong here."

"Yea, I've been hearing that from a lot of you people. Really makes me feel like sticking around longer, just to continue annoying you." The hunter's voice was slow, alluring, even if her accent marked her origins as common, ordinary. Not even an Imperial, he surmised. There was a chuckle from the hunter's female companion, then, but the Devaronian leaned closer to say something against her ear. Raffid couldn't quite catch it, although he saw the hunter shrug slightly in response.

Raffid lifted his chin, smiling, trying again to capture her notice. "My uncle is hardly a worthy welcoming party, it's obvious. Perhaps a drink. Johrian whiskey? You strike me as a lady who likes something with a bit of … bite."

She raised an eyebrow towards him. "Bored, huh? Sure, grab me a drink. I missed breakfast."

"Stop encouraging her, Raffid! You've already done enough to drag our family's name through the mud!" Heitor castigated him, as if he were a mere recalcitrant child! And right in front of the hunter! Raffid lowered his face, biting back an angry retort, even if he was determined to make the old man pay for such a degrading display. A whisper here and there, enough to drive away some of the sycophants his uncle adored. At the very least. "As for you, leave. Now. And use the servants' entrance. People will talk if they notice someone of your … ilk, here."

Raffid frowned towards Heitor. "Uncle, please. You're hardly behaving with courtesy towards a guest." He glanced at the hunter, dropped his gaze down towards her breasts. "Such a … lovely guest, too."

The hunter shrugged. "Yea, sure, maybe I'd be more popular if I'd worn my strapless blaster vest."

Raffid smiled. "_I_ definitely would've appreciated such a show, at least."

"Enough, please. Return to the festivities. I will have a few words with our guest, alone." Raffid sighed as his father finally approached to drive them all away. He tried lingering, but a swift glare from the Duke, which he met with a scowling shake of his head finally convinced him to step aside. Heitor was the only one who really argued – "You're not going to give the slightest attention to this mere thug, are you?" – but even he eventually withdrew.

Raffid watched the hunter moving along behind his father, looked down at the sway of her hips as she left the room to enter his father's office. Whispers sounded through the room, talk of the mercenary his father was conducting business with. Aitalla sidled up to his side, a broad smile splitting her face. She tapped a small finger against her chin, "And who was it that said no female could resist him? Oh, and only moments later, in walks just such a female, too. How amusing."

"Whatever would I do without your witty reportaire, sister, really." He looked at the closed door she'd gone through. "Besides. That hunter is a woman. Any woman I wish to have, I do. You'll see she's no different."

"Well, then. We'll truly see how well you play the game, hmm?"


	42. Chapter 41 -- Lesson Taught

Lord Malfus was yelling when she walked through the doors, so that harsh cruel words shattered the air and left their recipient huddling into himself as much as he could, as if he tried to disappear and failed, leaving him shaking in a sad, little ball of youthful distress. Kastiel stopped, staring at the tableau – the angry visage of the arrogant aristocrat that loomed over the lanky boy, his dark head bent low as he looked down at the floor.

"You stupid fool! That hat is worth more than your sorry excuse for a self, trust me! Bah! Get out of my sight! Take him out of my sight! Ten lashes, do you hear me? Ten lashes will remind you that next time you take more care with the items entrusted to you! Take him, damn you!" Malfus glared towards one of his guards, shoving the boy at them. They dragged him from the room, although his sobbing could still be heard for several long moments afterwards.

He was crying.

_She could hear him crying, even though he kept trying to drag himself up. He refused to give up, fought as hard as he could, even as the blood dripped, pooling underneath him. It wouldn't be long before the beasts in the marsh smelled that fresh blood, and he knew it. So he fought as hard as he could, to move, to drag himself along, determined to return to the city, to help. He needed a doctor, quickly, before the wounds inflicted on him proved fatal. But the pain was intense, the blows that were delivered so hard that the skin had broken, leaving terrible bleeding stripes all along his back, thick angry red slashes. So he cried, the tears falling steady and strong, even as he fought – against the pain, the darkness skirting the edges of his sight, the heated humidity of the air around him, all of it, everything. _

_And then she stepped closer, crooning as he blinked at her, trying so hard to focus on her face and failing. She called to him through the darkness of near unconsciousness. "I'm here. You're not alone. I've got you. I'll make sure he never does it again. I promise you, Khyriel. Never again."_

Kastiel shook her head, bit her lip as hard as she could. She took all of her inner demons and shoved them away again, out of sight. She refused to expose them to anyone. And she certainly refused them the power to control her, dictate her course. Then again, she thought, as Lord Malfus sauntered over to a couch and settled himself back into a reclining repose against its cushions - sometimes there was real value in letting a little demon come out to play, too.

Mako shook her head, looking down the hallway where they'd dragged the boy. "Is he serious?"

Kastiel's eyes watched the nobleman stonily. "He's definitely something." Malfus shifted against the cushions where he sprawled, feeling uncomfortable and not liking it overmuch. He didn't appreciate the sense he was being judged and found wanting. And by such a churl, to boot. "Give me the message," she ordered.

Malfus sniffed, looking for dirt under his fingernails rather than look at her. "You do not make demands of me, you lowborn … peasant! I'll have you beaten for your impertinence, before sending you back to Zacar like the mongrel you are. Maybe he'll think twice about insulting me again, send someone of actual rank the next time. Guards! Take her away!"

Kastiel's fist lashed out, suddenly. The heady thud of her gloved fingers against his mouth was almost as loud as Mako's exclamation, as she called to the guards, holding her blaster pistol up and straight towards them, "Don't even think about it!"

The officer leading the guards waved a hand, before he settled back on the heels of his feet, his hands held up in mock surrender. Malfus snarled at them, even as blood ran down his chin. "You're obliged to provide for my protection, damn you!"

"I've been defeated, my lord. Such shame requires me to resign in favor of a better captain of your guard. I'll leave the premises immediately." The guard captain turned on his heel smartly, gesturing towards his men. Within moments, the lot of them had marched stiffly from the room. Malfus loosed several long curses, declaring retribution against the men.

"That's quite a mouth you've got there. Your mother didn't exactly teach you right, did she? Now shut up and give me the information." Kastiel shook her fist, trying to clear the blood off her knuckles.

"How dare you insult my mother! You leather-faced harpy! I'll see you ruined, destroyed! I'll see you lashed, beaten to within an inch of your life! No! I'll have you beaten until you really are dead!" He ranted, raved. Until Kastiel grabbed him again.

"You're a slow learner."

Mako smirked as Kastiel hit the nobleman. Once. Then again. And then again. The blows were hard, furious, rage-filled. Kastiel growled, the sound angry and frustrated. Malfus finally fell back against the floor, his hands held up as he whined and cried, the tears falling fast against his bruised and battered face. "Stop! Please! No more, don't hit me anymore! Here, here are the codes you need to unlock the message Zacar needs. Just … just take it and go!"

Kastiel stepped back, breathing hard. Sweat ran smoothly down the side of her face. She sucked against her lower lip, where she'd bitten clear through to keep from raging aloud against the fool man. She leaned closer, staring hard at the pitiful excuse for a human. "Doesn't feel too good when someone beats on you, does it? Maybe you should consider that, the next time you do it to someone smaller and less powerful than yourself. Don't learn, and you may end up bleeding to death on the damn floor. That's what happened to the last fool I taught this lesson to, anyway."

She left him lying there in a pitiful heap, sobbing louder than the boy he'd abused earlier.


	43. Chapter 42 -- Sightseeing

"Damn protocol. Seems like everywhere I turn, there's some stiff standing there expecting me to act just so. Probably have a rule book." Kastiel narrowed her gaze at the serving man, as if considering. "You guys do have a book, don't you? Admit it."

The man's lips twitched, although he didn't respond except to raise up what Kas swore was a starched eyebrow, tellingly. She sighed, looking back down at the bowl the fellow was extending out towards her. The bottle of whiskey rested upon a bed of cold ice, with beads of chilled water running along its dark surface. She could tell the stuff had cost a pretty number of credits.

"And who sent me this gift, then?"

The servant cleared his throat before he intoned, "It's a gift to honor the Advocate of House Girrard, in gratitude for the services she provides our House. Lord Raffid ensured it was provided you."

"Oh. Well. I did tell him to get me a drink. Took him long enough." Kastiel leaned over to pluck the bottle free from its icy bath, shaking it subtly to loose the beads of water from its edges. The servant politely bit his lip, rather than laugh at the bounty hunter's complete and utter lack of pretension, the cool, unhurried appreciation that she gave the item, just a thing unworthy of posturing over. The unaffected lack of self-importance the hunter demonstrated was actually endearing, although many of the very so-called best Alderaanians would have called it gauche.

Gault smiled lightly as he accepted the bottle that Kas handed back to him. "Johrian whiskey, yep. Distilled two decades past and by a family well-renowned for their skill in making the stuff, to boot. Can I have it?"

Kastiel rolled her head along her shoulders, tiredly. "Better have it ready once we're done on this planet, rather. We're surely going to need it by then. In fact …" Kastiel motioned towards the servant once again, even as she hurriedly pulled her gloves off her hands. The man couldn't help but chuckle when she thrust her bruised knuckles into the ice water in the bowl he held out to her. She sighed contentedly then, ignoring the humor the servant continued to express as her hands soaked.

Mako shook her head. "And yet again a man's attentions goes right over your head, Kas. You amaze me." She held out a hand, ignoring the confused expression that Kastiel turned towards her. "Give me the whiskey, Gault. We figured it would be best if you stuck with Kas while I returned to the ship. There are some supplies to refurbish and a couple of repairs to knock out, anyway."

Gault smirked at her. "I hope that damn monkey-lizard tried getting into my quarters. I set out a rodent trap. And don't look at me like that! Nothing that would permanently damage the little beast."

Mako shrugged towards Kastiel. "Seems I have to repair whatever damage Quinnie's done to Gault's quarters, as well."

Gault started sputtering but Kas only nodded. "Hey, we'll down the bottle once the job here on Alderaan is finished. Keep Quinnie away from it."

"Advocate!"

Kastiel turned to regard Baron Zacar as he thundered into the room, followed by that ever-obsequious secretary of his, the blonde fellow who seemed inclined to follow him everywhere. Gault stepped smoothly behind the hunter as Mako ducked out of the door, clutching that expensive bottle of whiskey. "What is it, Baron?"

"I just received a strongly worded message from Lord Malfus, claiming you assaulted him. Is this true? Did you actually strike him?" The Baron stared at Kastiel with an incredulous expression. Then he looked down at her hands, still suspended in a bowl full of ice water. His eyes widened.

Kastiel shrugged. "I was very careful in my negotiations with Lord Malfus, Baron, believe me." Gault snorted softly under his breath, which Kas ignored.

"Careful?" Zacar leaned over, eyeing the water in the bowl the servant held. Rivulets of blood had turned the water pink. The servant stood stoic and silent as he held the bowl in place for the hunter, his lips pressed tight to avoid loosing any hint of amusement.

"Oh, yea. If I hadn't been careful I might have broken something important. Hard to pull the trigger on my blaster if one of my fingers is busted." Kastiel offered him a twisted grin when Zacar's jaw dropped. He looked down at the blood-strewn water again. Then he looked back at her, a slow smile etching across his face.

"I really do wish I'd been able to witness such an event as Malfus put so solidly in his place. That man has been a thorn in my side for ages. Thinks overmuch of himself. He's spent months now blocking my efforts to obtain better living conditions here in the Palace for my House. We've had to suffer these cramped quarters the entire time we've been here, when we deserve so much better after the sacrifices we've made for House Thul."

Kastiel looked around at the yawning rooms surrounding them, with their lavish appointments, lush carpets, and thick, brocaded fabrics that covered everything in sight. She shook her head at him, "Yea, I'm sure it's been rough." Gault lowered his head to hide his smirking grin, rubbing his broken horn ever so slowly.

"Indeed. But let's not belabor ourselves over such trifles. Business demands we consider the information you obtained from Malfus' records. It seems you'll be required to inspect some of the artifacts kept secure by House Alde, before we discover where Duke Corwin has disappeared to."

* * *

"What exactly is that, Gault?"

"What is what?"

"Give me a break, Gault. You know exactly what."

"It's nothing but a rock."

"Wasn't that pretty rock on display back there at the Alde museum?"

"Was it?"

"Gault."

"It's just a rock, Kas."

"Is that … aurodium?"

"It does sparkle, doesn't it? Especially when you turn it against the light like this, watch."

"That old man is going to have an absolute fit when he realizes one of his artifacts is missing. Bad enough we made him rush around checking for the fake."

"You think that's as bad as the blood-stains we left behind when we shot all those guards?"

"I think the old man will be more horrified by the loss of his pretty rock, than even the bleeding guards, yes."

"He should reconsider his priorities, don't you think?"

"Men tend to have funny ways of thinking about their rocks."

"What do you know about men's rocks?"

"Shut up, Gault."


	44. Chapter 43 -- Bargain from Hell

"Gault, I swear, if you touch that box I'll stab you myself."

"I didn't touch anything. Besides. You don't carry a blade."

"Keep thinking that. By all means."

Gault frowned as he watched Kastiel duck behind the blocky table where the locked box was sitting, as she poked and prodded at something on the floor just out of his sight. He sighed. "Well, you've already shot me in the ass. Why not add stabbing to the repertoire?"

"Well, _my_ stabbing wouldn't be fatal. This fool wasn't so lucky. Who's stupid enough to go into a house full of assassins and try to pick the lock on a box they set out in the middle of the damn room?" Kastiel's head popped up over the edge of the table to regard Gault standing there with his mouth hanging open. He suddenly dropped his hands back down, rather than continue reaching for the lock on the box. Kas grumbled. "Never mind."

Gault frowned fiercely. "Hey, I didn't touch the box! That's got to count for something!"

"You didn't touch it because I would've stabbed you otherwise!"

"Doesn't change the fact I didn't touch it." Gault leaned around the edge of the table, saw the meaty legs of an obviously dead man extending out along the floor, there. "So, then, oh vaunted leader. How'd he die?"

Kastiel yanked at the body, pushing it over to face the ceiling. The dead man's arms were twisted against his torso, as if he'd pulled and yanked at something on his chest. She could just make out several bloody spots, there. Not blaster bolts, though. Kas leaned closer, sniffing delicately, grunting softly as she caught the tail edges of an overly sweet scent coming from the wounds. She pushed against the body, looking along the floor critically until she found the devices.

"Poison darts. From the nearby walls, I think. Probably activated by a touch mechanism on the box. It was a nerve agent, caused the fellow to spasm agonized until he was dead. Luckily, it was rather quick-acting." Kastiel climbed back to her feet, wiping her hands against each other. She eyed her companion. Gault was looking at the box with a forlorn expression, despairing. She grinned. "If that box had a real voice, it would be crying as pitifully for you as you are for it, Gault."

He sighed rather dramatically. "That's because it's being abandoned to a hopeless sort of loneliness, never to be touched out of fear of reprisal. A tragic tale of love unwon."

"Or maybe it's merely a gull. A cruel mistress designed to tempt but never give up. A tease at its very worst."

"Well, that's certainly how I'll comfort myself in the lonely days ahead, trust me."

Kastiel chuckled as she worked quickly to adjust her stims, adding various chemicals into the devices while Gault waited. "Whatever works, huh? Just be careful in here. These Rist seem inclined to sneak their way to a kill."

"There's something to be said for that sort of approach. You know, don't just put yourself right there in front of the fellows trying to get you. Stay out of sight, rather, and blow their heads off their shoulders."

She glanced at Gault's rifle, the long barrel and scope that marked him a skilled marksman and sniper. "Depends on the sneak, I suppose. You didn't fare so well against the monkey-lizard."

"Oh, no, don't even go there. That monkey-lizard is a means of torture, rather." Gault continued grumbling as they stepped into a hallway leading down towards another series of chambers. Kastiel was unnerved by the sheer quiet of the place; she didn't trust it. She could almost feel the eyes watching her, sizing her up.

_These guys are testing me_, she thought. She wondered what the Rist might want from her. Because it was a given they wanted something. Rumors pegged them as the ones who'd killed the Panteer queen and her heir and tumbled the entirety of Alderaan into civil war over the throne, even if they were sent by the Ulgos. Paid killers, is all. Still, there was no evidence one way or another, nothing that worked to expose them. That showed real talent, skill – a level of expertise one simply didn't mess with, actually.

Which made her foray down into the lower chambers of their house particularly foolhardy, some would say. Not that foolish was a word Kastiel would use herself. Tenacious, maybe. Determined. Stubborn, yes. Stubborn was the word, she thought. And that's pretty much when the doorway behind her slammed shut and the hiss of gas began filling the air. "Son of a nerfherder! Down low to the floor, Gault, move!"

Kastiel yanked free one of the stims she'd prepared earlier, slapping it against Gault's shoulder in a single smooth motion. He coughed only once, thankfully, before looking towards the openings where the gas was pouring into the hallway. He nodded, holding his breath, even as Kas applied an additional stim against her own thigh before reaching for the door controls. Gault sighted down the length of his rifle, eyeing the incredibly slim apertures where the cloyingly sweet gas was emanating. His rifle spit – once … twice … three times - creating distinct metallic clanging sounds in the space until the hissing finally quieted and disappeared. Kastiel finally kicked the door panel, growling angrily. The door banged back open again. Gault cheered. For himself.

"Hah! Beat you to the punch! Did you see those shots I made? Skills! I've got them."

"Stop bragging, Gault. It's embarrasing."

"For who? Not me!"

"Keep it up and I'll start telling everyone what your bare ass looks like sticking up in the air while I slather kolto across it."

"You are a cruel, terrible woman, Kas."

"Cruel and terrible would suit us well," a new voice interrupted. Kastiel stepped further into the next, empty room, her face impassive. The holotransmitted image of a human man wearing the dumpiest hat she'd ever seen stood there on a table against the far wall of the room. She nodded slightly, unconcerned, recognizing the thing for what it was.

The Rists were going to offer her a job.

Kas suddenly remembered Mako, her small frame huddled in on itself as she settled against her, there in the mess on the _Bad Boy,_ as they left the Nar Shaddaa spaceport behind. Mako had been smiling as she described the time she spent with that young soldier who followed Gaibriel everywhere, Corso Riggs. He made Mako happy, and she needed that. But she had suddenly quieted, her dark eyes going murky with grief, and Kas knew she was thinking of Anuli all over again.

_"We're not like him, are we? Like the Eidolon, I mean. It's like he wasn't even … he was already gone, ruined, even before that blaster bolt took his life. He just didn't care, not about anything or anyone. He was a cold-blooded killer."_

_"No, Mako. We can kill, yes. And sometimes we have to kill. But we're not like him."_

_"Yea, but what if he wasn't always like that, either? What if he started out a lot like us? What if he slowly became that way?"_

_"But he never had a Mako."_

_Mako sat back, thinking. "You mean, it's friends that keep us from losing ourselves. People we care about."_

_"Always have something worth fighting for, worth killing for. Hell, worth dying for. Coming back to someone who's willing to love you even through the shit and muck and pain of it – that's what it takes, Mako. Trust me."_

Kastiel crossed her arms across her chest now, sighing subtly. Gault stepped close behind her, rather tense and alert, his rifle held loosely against his thighs. She slowly shrugged. "Gault has a big mouth. I'm always reminding him to shut it."

The man chuckled. "You do have most unusual friends, yes. And he is a friend, is he not? I'd hate to see you … lose him."

Kastiel scowled. "Threatening me gets us off on a bad foot right from the start. I take it that's not where you want to go. So just get down to it. What the fuck do you want?"

"Protective. We supposed you might be. You might be willing to put your own life on the line. But someone you care for? You're so utterly dogged in your pursuit as it is. It makes me wonder how much stronger you'd persist for a loved one. Tell me, is the Devaronian a lover, perhaps?"

She only stood there, staring at the holotransmission mutely. Behind her, Gault shifted his stance, enough that the leathers of his boots and vest rasped. She could sense his unease, felt it went past fear for his own welfare. He was angered, in fact. She could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

"Oh, I see. Not lovers. Friends. And little chance of that changing, even. How interesting."

"You're boring me."

The man laughed lightly. "Of course. I should have remembered. You are … persistent. Very well. You do business with House Girarrd, work closely even with the Baron. That House needs to be eliminated."

Kastiel shrugged. "They're useful to me, however. Until I capture the Durasteel Duke, I need them."

"Once you've captured or destroyed Duke Corwin, however, you'll no longer have a vested interest in their welfare, correct?"

Kastiel narrowed her gaze as she considered the man. "I was under the impression the Duke was here with you."

"Duke Corwin has fled our House. I'm told he took up residence with House Organa, in fact. I'm not certain what sort of appeal he offered to them. Nor even why he fled, as it's not in his nature to avoid an enemy. Quite the opposite, in fact." Then his gaze went hard and mean. "However, he left us without providing compensation for our protection and assistance. That is not acceptable. It's also why we'll provide you employment today, rather than destroy you as he requested of us."

"I thought you guys were fairly good at this sort of thing yourselves. Killed off a queen, even. What's with asking me to do this for you, then?"

He frowned at her mention of the Panteer queen, his discomfiture obvious. Kas didn't particularly care right then. "We are quick to use any number of assets when they present themselves. You're … what was the word you used to describe Girard? Ah, yes. You're _useful_ to us. For now."

"Useful is good. Good enough, at least." Kastiel leaned forward. "Because the next time you threaten one of my friends, I'll make sure to show you how far from useful I really can be."

He chuckled. "Be careful, bounty hunter. Fervent protectiveness can become a liability. Someone might think to use it against you. Even take from you someone precious and important. Not today, not me, no. But … well, you never know, do you?"

"They can try, of course. I've killed people for less."


	45. Chapter 44 -- Job's a job

**This went a tad longer than I originally anticipated but I was trying to include two seperate episodes from the game into one single chapter. Sorry, too, for all the dialogue. I'm hoping to convey a certain growing affection between Kastiel and Gault, here, as well as capture a particular feel for how I want to wrap Alderaan up.**

**Besides, Gault ends up taking over every bit of dialogue as I'm writing, go figure. Kinda of funny how that's happened, lol.**

* * *

She recognized the Imperial first. But her quick smile at seeing the lieutenant had earned a promotion to captain disappeared once she saw him lifting the Sith up onto the back of one of the Thrantas, right before joining her in the saddle. "Lusiel," she muttered. Brief glimpses over the years was all Kastiel ever had of her sister, stolen moments like this one, so rare that Kas maintained an almost awed consideration of her.

"So yea. Heard that Sith, there, gave that bastard nobleman a right nasty shock right there in the throne room of the Ulgo Palace a few weeks ago. You remember the one, don't you? 'I'm Chrimar Novenn! Kiss my boot, you peasant!'" Gault gestured dramatically, his hand held aloft as if he was posing on a stage. Kastiel grinned at his theatrics, nodding. "Yep. He ended up pissing his pants, right in front of them all. Seems Sith don't have much patience with stupidity. Go figure."

"_She_ wouldn't, especially." Kastiel spoke proudly, her voice strong as they stood watching the Thranta take flight, heard the laughing call of delight coming from its female passenger.

"Never would've pegged you for an Imperial, Kas. Caught me off guard when I saw the resemblance, mind you. You certainly don't sound like an Imp."

"I'm no Imperial, Gault. Don't ever mistake me for one. I shed that accent along with any hint of subjugation to Imperial will. I fight for myself, for those I care about and for those who actually earn my loyalty, rather. The Empire can rot, for all I care."

"Well, that's certainly clear enough, at least." Gault looked towards the horizon, where the Thranta could just barely be seen, still. "You protect your blood, though. Even if they do seem dead ignorant about you."

Kastiel shrugged, turning to bypass the marketplace as the two of them walked steadily towards the House Girrard. "I failed a brother and sister once before. Don't intend to have it happen again. Anyone who strikes against my own, I'd gladly destroy so badly they'd write songs about it."

Gault was quiet for a time, padding along beside her. She could hear the creak of his rifle strap as the weapon shifted against his back when he ducked out of the way of some random passerby in the streets of the Thul Palace. Wasn't meant to last, she supposed. Eventually, he grunted, "I myself would never, ever think to even lay a harmful pinkie finger on one of your siblings, Kastiel. Not even a small fingernail! Just want you to know that."

Kas chuckled. "You're just afraid of losing your other horn."

"Damn right I am." Gault almost tripped over a man's boot right then, stumbling slightly before catching himself. He nodded towards the nobleman he'd fallen against, apologizing. The man scowled back at him, mumbling something insulting about the color of Gault's skin. "Red devil? Seriously? That's the best you can come up with? Please! I've been called far better! 'Pitiless Maelibus' was a good one. I liked 'Crimson Serpent'. Almost changed my name again for that one! Had a lady friend who called me 'long tongued freak' once but not sure she meant it as an insult."

Kastiel chimed in helpfully. "Puckish kobold! Rascally Danchaf! Oh, yea! Or cheeky goblin!"

"See? Far better! You, sir, need practice with your insults! It is a refined artform, in fact. You require some particular assistance in better utilizing the skill. I could recommend some teachers. Kastiel, here, would gladly take your credits in exchange for her help, I'm sure." Gault bowed low at the waist, his hand held deferentially across his chest. The gesture was so pantomimed, so obvious, the man couldn't help but understand the disrespect Gault actually intended.

"How dare you!" The man pointed one long finger towards the Devaronian, glowering ferociously with righteous indignation. "I do not have time to banter with witless fools."

"Better, better. You could still use some practice. By all means, continue."

The man nearly stomped his foot, he was so angry. Kastiel watched him turning even more thrilling shades of red as his skin flushed and then flushed still more. She chuckled low as the man spit out some words. "You are both trying my patience," he stammered.

Gault tsk'ed sadly at him then. "Trying? Kas, I do believe our own skills need some work, if this man says we're only trying."

She nodded with melodramatic seriousness. "Let's get to it. Move on, my friend! We all seem to have hours of work ahead of us! Was wonderful talking to you!" They laughed as the man stomped back over to his companions, a couple of noble characters dressed as much like fancy birds as anything else. The fluff and down of their plumage was bright, cheerful, garish – a far cry from the nasty looks all three men shot her and Gault as the two of them stood there, laughing.

Then Kastiel heard one of the men speak a familiar name. She cocked her head slightly as she listened to the droning comments the trio shared together, there in their little alcove.

"There's no time, Damlin! You got the recording of the young Raffid, right? Now all you have to do is confront him with it. Once he's properly terrified, take him to his father and get the property!"

"I wouldn't mind getting a copy of the recording, after, by the by, Damlin."

"What? Do you know what I went through to get that holorecording? My wife wouldn't agree to the task, anyway, even after I told her how much land we'd win for our family estate if only she'd play along. Instead, I had to pay real monies for the drugs I used to spice her meal that night. It's a wonder Raffid went ahead and took her, considering she could barely stay awake, mumbled refusals several times, and even cried during the blasted tryst. It's pathetic to watch, from start to finish, believe me."

"It's her unwillingness that makes the thing so sweet, though. Come now, Damlin, I'll give you whatever sum you paid for the drugs, _if_ I get a copy of the recording."

The man seemed to ponder the business. For a small moment, anyway. "Very well. I'll send a bill along to your estate. Once I have the total in my accounts, I'll give you a copy of the holo."

Kastiel's hilarity died a swift death as she listened to the sordid transaction. Times like these, Kas was sorry her implants made her hearing so perfectly acute. Gault shook his head as he watched her eyes darken with disgust, "What? What'd I do? Few jokes, nothing serious." She looked at the Devaronian, then, who stood there with his hands held up in mock surrender.

"You know, this planet is just as fucked up as Dromund Kaas. Only, they're more honest about it in the Empire. Here, it's all prettied up, complete with fancy clothes and oh-so-civilized language."

"Oh. I thought you were going to say something about how gloomy it is on Dromund Kaas all the time."

Kas blinked at her Devaronian friend, smiling again as she returned to her path towards the Baron's house. "As if I give a shit about the weather."

"Certainly not if you grew up on Dromund Kaas. The weather there's simply awful." Gault drawled.

"Been there often, have you?"

"Oh, loads, yes."

"Of course. Bet they welcomed you with wide arms, too."

"It was my horns. They loved the horns."

"So they kept one of them, huh?"

That's why they were laughing when they ducked through the doors of the Girard estate. Lady Aitalla saw them come inside and waved imperiously towards the both of them, calling out, "Oh, Advocate! How fortuitous that you've arrived at just this moment." Kastiel turned towards the lady, biting back some witty response to the idea of fortune having anything to do with her motions. She hunted her destiny, then took it for her own, rather.

Aitalla was perched on a bench there in the vestibule, surrounded by the prettiest potted plants Kastiel had ever seen. Her scarlet gown made for a dramatic splash of color against that backdrop, so that her pale skin almost seemed to glow. She was beautiful. And she knew it, just as much as the man kneeling there in front of her did.

He wasn't so pretty as Aitalla. His large, chunky frame was covered in expensive fabrics, though, and his square face was topped with another weird hat. What was it about Alderaanians and their hats, anyway, Kas thought.

Aitalla pointed towards her suitor, then. "This fool actually believes I'd give him leave to ask me to wed him, as if I'd even consider such a thing. I'm insulted! Remove him at once!"

Her erstwhile lover actually gaped at her in some astonishment. "But you said … wait! What is this? I thought … don't you like me?"

"Actually, you're not even amusing me anymore." Aitalla sighed with a flourish, managing to look gorgeous even as she did it. Kastiel wasn't overly impressed as she considered the crestfallen expression on the lug's face, rather. "Advocate! Remove him, now!"

Kas scowled. "I'm not your damn servant. Do it yourself."

Aitalla's jaw dropped. Kastiel wondered if anyone had ever stopped long enough to tell her "no" to anything. Doubtful. Which would make Kas' intransience all the more appalling, she supposed. The stubborn woman tried again, though. "Oh, I see. It's a matter of credits, isn't it? People like you need to be bought first. Very well. I have a rather sizable allowance I'm willing to share with you. If you do as I ask."

Kastiel thought her sneer, with its delicate twisting of the nostrils and the small moue of her mouth, particularly well done. She idly wondered if it was possible to duplicate such a _pretty_ look of disgust. "People like me, huh? Hey, Gault. This one is far more skilled with insults. Not so much negotiation." She heard the unmistakable sound of the Devaronian sniggering behind her.

"Come now, bounty hunter. You have little appreciation just how large an allowance I receive. Trust me. It's bountiful. Precisely why this fellow is kneeling at my feet, in fact. He needs my dowry far more than he truly wants me." Aitalla shrugged a delicate shoulder, her gracefulness an unabashed métier she simply had to have practiced.

Kastiel glanced at the hulking chump in question, saw the man was still blinking in astonishment at the course of the conversation. _Poor fool didn't even see it coming_, Kas thought. She looked back at Aitalla, saw that her brown eyes were gleaming, the dark orbs glittering with pleasure as she saw her suitor brought down so low. She realized the woman was actually _excited_ by the entire exchange. She got off on hurting men, humiliating them, having them chase her and get oh so close just before she lopped them off at the knees, so to speak.

Kastiel shook herself, disgusted. She reached down to yank the man to his feet, but he offered her no resistance. He glanced at her with a dazed expression on his face, his distress a palpable thing. But Kas was stone-faced as she watched Aitalla, rather. "Give Gault the credits, lady. I'll take tubby, here, outside."

She heard Aitalla murmur something negative about dealing with Kastiel's servants followed Gault's caustic protestations he was no one's damn servant, but she was moving fast towards the door, pulling the chunky arm of Aitalla's suffering beau as he stumbled along behind her. The man was near crying, even as Kas opened the door.

She looked at him, watched as his eyes froze on her scarred face. She leaned closer, spoke quietly, "You're lucky to be free of that. Think how much worse it would've been if she'd said 'yes' and you were forced to live with her every single day for the rest of your life. She'd have tormented you, without remorse, and _liked_ it."

The man's eyes widened. She watched the wheels turning, the realization dawning of just how close to real disaster he'd come. She nodded. "Now give her a decent enough show, huh? So that she refuses to bother you anymore after today." He nodded, his expression grateful as Kas raised her voice loud enough for Aitalla to hear, completing the harridan's mean entertainment. "Get out of here, lard-ass! The lady doesn't want anything to do with you! And don't come back, either!"

She shoved the man through the doorway, saw him bumbling his way into the street. She stood there, watching as he recovered, resolutely ignoring the numerous people who turned to look at him. He yanked himself to his feet, rather, squaring his shoulders. He turned towards Kastiel, standing there in the doorway, and bent low in a gesture of proud respect, intoning, "Thank you, dear lady."

Kastiel nodded slightly before stepping back to shut the door. Aitalla was still arguing with Gault about the amount of money Kas was owed. She crossed over to the pair, glaring, "This world is insane. Look, lady. Credits. Now. Or I swear I'll march out that door and tell every man I meet to steer clear of your damn self. And why, mind you."

Aitalla grimaced, suddenly looking far less attractive. "Fine. But don't think to bother me with anymore of your nonsense. Is that clear?"

"Crystal. Now move. I didn't come here to pander for your amusements."

Kastiel spun around Aitalla, almost marching as she left the vestibule. Gault stepped after her, his gait steady and sure. She snorted, "And there's one of the most un-useful humans I've ever met. Damn bloodsucker of a female. Bloodbat! No! Leech! Cause a leech is slimy gross, to boot." Gault just followed Kas, grunting agreeably every now and then as her quietly mumbled rant continued.

Baron Zacar watched the bounty hunter approach with some level of bemusement. She was talking to her companion, or at least he thought she was. Regardless, she appeared to be unhappy. He only hoped he was correctly judging her expression, because as she stepped into the room he saw a cool unemotional mask fall across her face. _All business, from one moment to the next_, he thought.

"Good day, Advocate. I'm told you successfully penetrated House Rist! You are … remarkable. Perhaps when this business with my cousin, Duke Corwin, is finished, you might be enticed to support House Girard with a more permanent position." Baron Zacar with heady enticement, his voice nearly sugary. Kastiel didn't bother telling him she preferred spice over sweet. She even managed to remain civil in the face of an offer to suffer still more of this planet! Quite a feat, that.

"Nope. Have other places to go. Other people to kill. You know how it is." Kas rolled her shoulders subtly, watched as the Baron's face drooped with disappointment.

"Indeed. Well, then. At least you may assist us in the meantime." He settled back on his heels, holding his arms in a pensive pose behind his back as he paced in front of her. "The Durasteel Duke has fled House Rist, as I'm sure you know. He's taken up residence with the Organas, in fact! The shame of it! If his presence, there in such treasonous company, becomes known – our entire family's place, here with the Thuls, will be threatened! It can't be allowed! You must go there and destroy him. It's essential, now … What? What is the meaning of this interruption?"

Kastiel turned to watch as the Baron's son was shoved through the door. Gault rumbled a low noise, as they both recognized the nobleman pushing Raffid. Kas frowned at the spectacle, rolling her eyes when Raffid limped over towards his father with over-effected care. She almost clucked at him with pretended sympathy, in fact.

The nobleman – Damlin was his name, of course – pointed a reedy finger towards the fool child of the Baron's. "This little rapscallion you call a son has cuckolded me, baron! Damn you, all! I expect recompense! If you don't give me that winter haven of yours, I'll make sure the Thuls hear of it, I assure you!"

"What? Are you mad? That estate has been in my family for generations! How dare you! Raffid, what is the meaning of this?" Zacar was almost bouncing in agitation, his face mottling with flushed anger.

"Nothing, father. A small bit of dalliance, is all."

"Dalliance? Are you joking? After you besmirched that young maid only recently and left her with a child to care for?"

Damlin guffawed. "Sticking his wick into a great many candles, is he? I mean it, Baron. I insist I have the deed to the lands. Posthaste."

Baron Zacar trembled with the bitterest anger as he glared towards Damlin. Then he caught sight of Kastiel, still standing there, quietly watching the episode with her arms crossed across her chest. He glanced down towards her hips, where her blasters perched promisingly. "Advocate! Shoot this fool! I'll provide you just compensation if you act on my behalf."

"Shoot him where?"

"Here!"

"No, where? His chest, his leg … what?"

"In the face! Kill him!"

Kastiel nodded. "Hey, it's your money." She didn't blink, nor even glance sideways towards the foolhardy bastard of a rapist nobleman. She just reached down to pluck one blaster from her belt, raised it, and fired. From the corner of her eye she saw Damlin's face turn scarlet as blood bloomed, heard him make one single squeal in shocked surprise. Then he was falling, and he hit the floor with a loud squelching kind of thud.

Gault murmured to her, quietly, "By the time we're done here today, we should have quite a windfall. Keep shooting them, Kas!"

Zacar smiled down at the bloody remains. "I've never enjoyed an expenditure of credits more. I'm very please, Advocate."

"I imagine his wife will be even happier," Katiel shrugged as she replaced her blaster against her hip. Raffid was standing there, his eyes glazed, almost panting as he watched her. She frowned at him in bewilderment.

"Raffid!" Baron Zacar had turned to glare at his son. "You're to remain in your quarters, Raffid! This entire debacle is your fault. How many times must I tell you that control might save us effort, money, more? Get out of my sight!"

Raffid stumbled out of the room. Stumbled, because he kept looking towards Kastiel almost worshipfully. Gault snickered. Then he laughed aloud when he caught sight of Kas' expression, saw that she was still confused by Raffid's behavior. Zacar was looking at both of them very seriously, though.

"Now, Advocate. Here's where you need to go …"

* * *

Kastiel settled back against the edge of her Longspur, gripping the handles of the speeder carefully. She glanced over at Gault as he growled, complaining, "I've never been able to balance quite right on these things."

Kas raised one brow towards the Devaronian. "Didn't you pass yourself off as a speeder salesman, Gault?"

"Sure. Didn't have to operate the damn things, though."

Kastiel laughed so hard she nearly fell off of the foot-rests where she balanced herself. "A speeder salesman who can't operate a speeder. That's classic."

"Don't know why. You're a woman who can't seem to figure out when a man wants you. Just cause someone possesses certain equipment doesn't make them an expert on how they're used, huh?"

Kas frowned thoughtfully. "What're you talking about?"

"That Raffid guy. He practically drools when you walk into the room!"

"Raffid?" Kastiel grimaced. "Nasty little bug of a man. I doubt he'd appreciate any woman who had the balls to say no to him. Wait, I know he wouldn't, because he didn't! Besides. He's skinny, practically scrawny. Could you see me sparring with him? I'd bust him in under an hour! Complete with broken bones!"

"Is that what you're looking for? A man you can spar with? That's all you want in a male?"

Kastiel fell quiet for a moment, contemplative. Her speeder hummed quietly under her feet, as she settled back, thinking. Gault watched her curiously, even as he pulled himself into place on his own speeder. Her eyes were dark liquid brown. "I want a man who's strong enough, yes. Someone who doesn't hesitate to do what he believes is right. Someone who knows what he's about, knows what he's fighting for. He's honest, honorable. Brave."

"Yea, and what would this paragon look like, then? Cause it sure seems like you have a very particular man in mind." Gault almost started to snicker at the bounty hunter, but he bit the sound back. He realized, watching her, that there _was_ someone she was thinking about, and mocking that sentiment would be … hurtful, cruel. He liked her too much to really injure her. And when, honestly, did he start liking the damn female, anyway?

"Kept me safe, soothed my hurts," Kastiel muttered.

"Who? What happened?"

She shook her head, breaking loose from her memories. "Come on, you damn hobgoblin. Let's get this business done and get off this blasted world."

"Hobgoblin? Nice one. We'll have to come up with some new insults as we're going along."

* * *

**- A Maebilus was a demonic-looking creature native to the planet Iego in the Outer Rim. They lived primarily underground, there, so weren't as familiar to most people as Devaronians were. They didn't have wings but their scaly skin gleamed golden; they were considered quite beautiful. However, they possessed natural claws, a pair of horns on their forehead, and razor-sharp teeth. Their skin could resist blaster bolts.**

**- A Danchaf, sometimes called a tree goblin, was a small pack animal native to the planet of Garban in the Outer Rim, near the Corellian Run. They were humanoid in stature with clawed hands and horned shoulders and heads. They nimbly climbed the trees of their homeworld. They were generally considered non-sentient, although the Jenets - small, rodent-like creatures who controlled Garban - told tales of Danchaf that once ruled their world.**

**- Bloodbats were vampiric bats native to the planet Tenupe on the Sparkle Run. Tenupe was controlled by Killiks, until the Swarm War in 36 ABY (after Battle of Yavin), when the Chiss Ascendency took over the world.**


	46. Chapter 45 -- The Duke and the Hunter

_Any grown-up will tell you, not all fairy tales have a happy ending. Indeed. Sometimes the princess is ruined. Sometimes the prince meets a lowly end. Long before they can truly reach any hint of a happily ever after, even. But even those tales have valuable lessons to impart._

_Once, there was a strong and gallant Duke. He was called Corwin. He was greatly handsome, of course. But virtuous, as well. He fought for peace on Alderaan during a time of great strife, when all the houses battled each other. He never backed down from any fight, fearlessly meeting rogues and villains on the dueling field, even, if only to defend the honor and nobility of his house. He was renowned for his bravery throughout the galaxy!_

_Like all brave heroes, though, Corwin had a dastardly rival. His cousin, Raffid, was a mean and vicious rodent of a man. He delighted in nothing so much as bothering and hurting the sweet hearts of ladies and maidens alike. And he was dreadfully envious of his cousin, the Duke, despising him for his attractions and prominence. So much that one day he cruelly attacked Corwin's sister, Muriel, taunting her so badly she collapsed into tears of distress right there in front of an entire company of party-goers._

_Corwin came upon Raffid laughing at his sister's misery, and he became incensed. He raged against Raffid, demanding that he meet Corwin in a duel of fisticuffs to best atone for Muriel's upset. But Raffid was afraid, knowing of Corwin's expertise on the dueling field in all manners of confrontation. So he gathered together a band of brutes that he called friends and he ambushed the noble Corwin on the road outside the dueling ground._

_Alas for terrible Raffid, fortune did not smile on him. For Corwin managed to overcome his assailants, beating the lot of them soundly. Raffid was forced to endure the ribald jokes and taunts of all Alderaan's nobility in the days to come, as they mocked his blackened eye and fat, swollen lip. They all laughed to see him brought so much to account for his miserable behavior._

_Raffid seethed against the humiliation that Corwin had provided him. He learned nothing for the terrible low behavior he had made and what it wrought him. No. Instead, he plotted, he planned evil doings. And when the time was right, he struck Corwin a terrible blow. He enticed a young lady that Corwin was greatly in love with, until she turned away from Corwin, confused and tricked by Raffid's machinations. Raffid then taunted Corwin for the lady's choice, bragging to every one who would listen of the lady's true attentions, dishonoring her most terribly and in front of all company. The young woman was utterly humiliated, disgraced in front of everyone; she hid herself away from all, crying in shamed seclusion._

_Outraged on her behalf, Corwin demanded satisfaction from Raffid, insisting they meet in a true duel this time, so that he could regain the lost honor of his sweet lady. But even then Raffid refused to act with principle. Instead, he went to his uncle, an evil, terrible man who possessed various lowborn means of assassination, such as poison, and he obtained from him a particularly virulent toxin. He smeared the poison on Corwin's blankets, so that when he slept, he ingested the venomous substance into his system. By morning, brave Corwin lay sick and dying._

_In terrible fear for her brother's life, Muriel fled the house with her brother's body, desperate to save him. Yet no matter how much effort the healers focused on the Duke - even days suspended in kolto – none of it was enough! Corwin continued to waste away, his mind lost to death even though his body persisted, and all chance for peace through his effort was lost with him. Muriel, though, bravely stepped forward, donning her brother's face through trickery and subterfuge, trying desperately to secure the peace that Corwin had fought so hard for through those long days._

_Raffid, however, continued to fear, not knowing Corwin's true fate. And he begged his father, a minor Baron, barely noble and despised by many, for help. The Baron looked to someone, some means to achieve his family's recompense, and he found a mere hunter, one who'd come to Alderaan seeking the Duke._

_Some say the hunter sought personal gain or wealth in the hunt for the Duke. That may be true, perhaps. There are those who say the hunter was seeking revenge of some kind, rather. The Duke's inherent nobility makes that unlikely, though. The best answer, I think, is that the hunter was seeking a prize not one of us native here to Alderaan can ever really understand._

_Regardless of the hunter's true purpose, the hunt spanned the world, as the hunter sought the Duke across the breadth of Alderaan. And Muriel, carrying her brother's sickened body, fled from the hunter's pursuit time and then time again. She was so desperate she even looked to assassins and spies to keep them hidden. But none of it was enough, and the hunter eventually found them, cornered them. _

_The hunter approached the Duke's sister, weapon drawn, lips twisted with determination. And the lady cried out in fear, begging for consideration of her plight, exposing the truth of her deception. Her agony, her terror was clear. And the hunter stopped, considering. The hunter sorrowed at the lady's fear, and withdrew, taking the now dead Duke as prize for the hunt, and leaving Muriel to live and to grieve._

_But do not feel sad, young ones. Please. The hunter returned to the Baron, to find him felled by the cruel machinations of his own family, and confronted them all, including his vile son. The hunter delivered them unto justice. And that, my sweet young ones, is how the House Girard was destroyed, brought low at the hands of one brave hunter._

_Never forget, that justice demands the best of us. Else we will pay the price. Even if the means by which we're given up to it comes from the most unlikely of sources._

- "The Duke and the Hunter", a fairy tale, as told to Princess Leia Organa and her companions, by her tutor, Mistress Agithinia Organa, in 11 BBY, during an afternoon tea. For holotransmission recording, see record number 15-A458 in in the "Alderaan Histories" of the Senatorial Library on Coruscant. Note: Mistress Agithinia Organa was killed during the destruction of Alderaan, 0 BBY.

* * *

The Baron didn't die well. Some people would laugh at the thought a person could die _well_. But Kastiel learned how mean and hard death really could be, realized it as she fought to breathe, lying there underneath her own mother's mangled corpse. Dying could be a cruel, messy affair; it could be terrible; it could hurt beyond measure; it could be frightening, horrible. And there wasn't always a troop of brave Mandoes nearby willing to save your ass, either.

As she knelt down next to the broken body of Baron Zacar Girard, Kastiel knew that dying, for him, had been everything bad.

He'd tried fighting. His fingernails were broken and chipped, probably made as he flailed against his assailant. But he'd been weakened beforehand. The smell of that particular poison had become rather familiar to Kas over the past weeks; she'd never even removed from her medical pouch the stims she'd prepared with the antidote to it, in fact.

It was Braden who'd taught Kastiel about poisons. "_Loads of hunters use 'em, Kas. They're not always for killing, mind you. Quite a few prove effective in incapacitating a target, rather. They hold 'em in place, keep them from fighting you. If your target is exceptionally tough, hard to beat, or if your buyer wants them living and unbroken – you consider darting 'em. Become familiar with the most common ones, the ones for killing, yea, but also the ones you use for sleepin' them._"

Frowning, Kastiel considered the chance the Rists had acted on their own, without regard for Kastiel's own motions. But the Rists weren't known for making bad business moves, and hiring a hunter only to do the job yourself – well, it was just bad business. Besides … Kas noticed a vial crashed to pieces there under the Baron's desk, nearby.

No, the Baron anticipated this attempt on his life, knew the killer, well enough he knew what sort of attack the murderer would make. He'd prepared his own antidote well in advance, then used it, probably as soon as he ingested the toxin. So the poison wouldn't have proved fatal. What killed him, rather, was the boot the murderer had placed right over his throat, most likely as he lay gasping on the floor.

Zacar had gurgled his final breaths through the blood pooling in his throat around a broken, shattered trachea, staring up at his killer the entire while. He'd not been allowed to die well. Too bad, really. Zacar really was the best of the lot, when it came to the Girards. Which wasn't saying much, really.

"I am the new Baron, uncle! It's my birthright!" Raffid was glaring at his uncle, his fists firmly clenched. Kastiel glanced up, shaking her head disgustedly as the sight of the three parasitic wastrels arguing over spoils before their dead was even cold. She was in an excellent position, though, to consider their feet, and she did, eyeing the footwear each one of the Girards were wearing.

Tobie always argued you could track a killer by the signs of violence he – or she, to be fair - left behind. "_Bruises take on the shape of the implement used to make them, in fact. Look here, see this scrape on the dead man's back? He tumbled backwards obviously, falling against a rough surface. And there it is, see? A bruise just under the clavicle on the front of his chest. Someone hit him, probably with a shovel, causing him to fall backwards_."

Aitalla's slippers easily exonerated her. The woman was a bitch and then some, but she hadn't killed Zacar. Nor had Raffid, surprisingly enough. His boot had a smooth tread, rather. That, and his foot was too small. He had rather dainty feet, in fact. Probably soaked the things in some kind of milk bath to keep them soft, even. Pathetic. And poor nerf cows, too.

But Heitor? Zacar's brother was wearing boots that had a thick, heavy sole, marked with striated edges that had left a singularly distinct bruise against the dead man's throat. She'd bet real money she'd find scratches on his ankles if she tugged up the hem of his pants, too.

Kastiel sighed as she pondered what it must have been like for Zacar, lying there, looking up at his own brother as he fought for his life. Definitely a bad way to die, she decided. Not that she was truly sorry the man was dead, either. Gault had hauled Corwin's corpse away from the Organa estate earlier. But she was still bothered at the lengths the Girards had gone to, out of nothing more than envy. Corwin hadn't been allowed a decent death, either. Kastiel would've at least met him face to face, given him a chance to fight.

Kas shook her head, her lips pressed. She'd grown up on a world where betrayal and killing were commonplace, enough that you just didn't bat an eyelash to hear someone killed their lover or betrayed their best friend. But this? Alderaan reeked of the same nasty cesspool of violence and deceit even as it declared itself virtuous. The dishonesty of it all disgusted her.

"You can not be allowed to take the title of Baron when you yourself killed your father, Raffid! Why, the idea is actually outrageous!" Heitor was actually chuckling. Kastiel thought his humor not only misplaced but really creepy, too. She eased herself back to her feet, crossing her arms across her chest as she continued to regard the awful trio.

"What? I didn't kill him! I wager you did the deed!" Raffid was almost bouncing, he was so agitated. His sister placed her hand gently against his elbow, though, striving to calm the young man.

"Both of you, stop. The fact remains this hunter, here, was named Advocate. She is the only one in a position worthy of determining the best successor. The best courts, in fact, will act as she decides, I wager it." Aitalla turned to Kastiel, doing a damn good job of looking sweet and pretty. Her dress was a pink concoction of expensive fabric, shot through with gold threads, while her dark brown hair cascaded in a waterfall against her back. She'd probably fixed her fucking face paint before rushing to the room where her dead father was lying murdered, Kastiel thought. "I hope you'll take into account my own suit, Advocate. I seek a place of my own, free of the controls some man would place on me. For your trouble, I'll compensate you, assuredly."

"Oh, no, Aitalla. You can not possibly grant the hunter as much compensation as I can." Heitor leaned closer, until Kastiel could almost smell his nasty breath. She stared hard at the murderer, refraining at the last moment from giving him a sneer. "I've set aside a tidy bundle over the years, hunter, trust me. You'll be quite pleased at the wealth I can provide you, trust me."

"But neither of them is willing to offer you what I can, sweet lady. Name me Baron and I will marry you! You'll walk from here with all the wealth that comes from being a Baroness! Think of it, dear one!" Raffid's eyes gleamed darkly as he considered getting everything he'd ever wanted in one simple, easy swoop – title, wealth, position, and a most delectable bit of female flesh he could use as much and as often as he wanted until he finally tired of it. That female just stared back at him, appearing stunned at first. Then her lips twisted with disgust.

Kas could hear Gault's soft chuckle from behind her, almost turned to glare at him. But she only sighed, rather, subtly rolling her shoulders to loosen her arms. She knew the Devaronian would note the motion for the warning it was intended to be. She sensed him shifting, stepping back carefully, closer to the door and the cover of the Baron's desk, too. Heitor noted the motion, and frowned.

"You're some of the most useless people I've ever been forced to deal with. And I've dealt with some pretty useless people over the years, believe me. I'm going to treat you with the same regard I did them, too." Kastiel suddenly yanked loose one of her blasters, raising the pistol up shoulder level.

Her bolt caught Heitor straight and even right in the middle of his forehead. Kas watched the bloom of blood against his face, the way it slid down in a thick, oozing stream over the bridge of his nose into his open, gaping mouth. He fell backwards, stiffly, making a hard thud against the expensive carpet at his feet. Aitalla shrieked, trying to turn and run. But she ran straight into Gault's waiting arms. The Devaronian grunted at the impact, almost naturally pushing the panicked woman back into the line of Kastiel's sight. And her aim, too.

Raffid at least tried running towards the back door of the room. His arms were flailing madly as he cried piteously in loud peals of terror and fear. Kastiel's shot caught him in the back of the neck, with force enough the front of his throat almost exploded. At least it shut him up, she thought. Aitalla stumbled, falling to her knees, crying huge tears. "Why? Why would you do this terrible thing," the woman begged for answers, sniffling as her hands slid through the pool of blood coming from Heitor's head.

Kastiel shook her head. "Come now. You must have realized there were only so many people you lot could screw over, before someone finally hired help enough to destroy you. To me, this is a job. To you? It's just deserved."

Aitalla gasped as the hunter raised her pistol up one more time. "Please!" But Kastiel only shrugged, rolling her shoulder one more time before she fired again. She watched coolly as Aitalla collapsed next to Heitor's corpse. Didn't even mess up the silly hag's face paint, she noted. Gault stepped up beside her, glancing around.

"Hey, you kept them all on the same rug, although it's a shame such a magnificent piece was ruined with all that blood. You know, we could do some fast work, fudge the Baron's will a bit. Walk out of here with claim to everything!" Gault reached down to smooth Aitalla's dress back down from where it had ridden up along her legs. No need to embarrass the woman, after all. Even if she was dead.

"Can you really do that?"

"Of course! Forgery is an art and I am an artiste!" Gault almost crowed, although quietly, as the doors to the office remained closed, even after all the violence done in the room. The guards must be used to loud arguments and shouts coming from the room. Didn't speak well of the former owners, he decided.

"Perfect. Gault, this is what I need you to record on those papers …"

* * *

"What? No! He can't be dead! He promised to join me here … he loved me!" The legal representative sniffed as he watched the young woman dissolve into tears, clutching at her burgeoning belly. He supposed he could tell her the truth of young Raffid's … indiscretions while at Thul Palace. But, really. Why destroy such pretty illusions, he thought. At least someone would remember the man with a certain degree of fondness.

"Of course, my lady. You really must sign all the requisite paperwork, to finalize the formalities." He pushed the papers across the table towards the weeping female, motioning towards the droid nearby to witness the process. The whirring sound as it complied and began to holorecord the exchange blanketed the room. "Your name, please. For the record."

The maid shuddered as she tried regaining control, but her gaze remained wet as she blinked blurrily down at the papers the representative had offered. "My name? Oh. Yes, of course. I'm Merika Antilles. Only distantly related to the noble house, however. I'm sorry."

He waved one hand, unconcerned. "Please. No need to be concerned over my own feelings. Your grief is difficult enough, I'm certain. Now. Your unborn child is, in fact, the child described in the papers left behind by the late Baron Zacar Girard, correct? His grandchild, from his son, Raffid?"

"Yes. We were planning to wed. Raffid sent me here to wait for him. That was … several months ago, of course. I'm sure he was on the way. Please … how did he die?" Merika's eyes filled with still more tears. He sighed as he watched her, absolutely certain that little wretch, Raffid, never intended to lay even a small claim to this woman's unborn child. At least his father had been keen to the vagaries of life, enough to provide for such terrible eventualities.

"You will not be benefited by such knowledge, my lady. Suffice to say, he died violently during the assassination of House Girard. But it was quick! I am sure he didn't suffer needlessly." He sighed, looking away from her as she burst into tears again. He waited, patient in fact, until Merika's tears slowed into brief and tired sniffles again.

"Tell me, my lady. Have the healers been able to ascertain the gender of your unborn child yet?"

"Yes. I'm to have a son."

"I see. I am certain you've chosen a name for the boy. Please record it appropriately."

"Of course. His name will be Raymus. For my father. An old family name."

"Indeed. Raymus Antilles, then. He'll inherit all wealth and holdings once belonging to the late Baron Zacar Girard, as described in the papers the Baron kept in his office. I am sorry but the title of Baron is withheld, as the child was never legitimized. The House of Girard has ended."

Merika gazed out the window overlooking the gardens nearby the estate, biting her lip in a concerted effort at maintaining her fledgling control over her emotions. She rubbed against her belly softly, murmuring, "See, poppet? Your father _did_ love you. Isn't that wonderful?"

* * *

**The name, Raymus Antilles, belonged to a character from the Star Wars movies. I thought it would be interesting to give it, here, to a long distant ancestor of his, as well.**

**The character, Raymus Antilles, appeared twice in the Star Wars movies. He's the captain of the Alderaanian ship, _Tantive IV_, who is given charge of C-3PO and R2-D2 by Bail Organna, along with the order to wipe C-3PO's memory, during the closing scenes of "Revenge of the Sith". In the years that followed, Antilles continued to captain the _Tantive IV_, although he actively participated in several audacious activities for the Rebellion Alliance. He once attacked a fleet of Imperial starships that were transporting rebel prisoners, freeing the rebels and saving their lives.**

**He's seen a final time in the opening scenes of "A New Hope". The _Tantive IV_ is the ship transporting Princess Leia with her stolen Imperial plans, but they're overtaken over Tatooine by Darth Vader's starship. Raymus Antilles is captured and taken to Vader. But he bravely refuses to give up the secrets to the location of either Princess Leia or the plans. Vader chokes him to death, then flings his body into a nearby wall out of anger.**

**His last words include, "We intercepted no transmissions ... this is a consular ship ... we're on a diplomatic mission ..."**


	47. Chapter 46 -- Aay'han

Kastiel leaned her head back against the wall behind the bench in the mess, trying hard to ignore Gault's rambling complaints. It proved a losing battle, with Kas just enduring as she shoveled bits of salad into her mouth just so she wouldn't have to actually respond to him. Maybe if she ignored him long enough, he'd get the hint. But nooooo, she couldn't possibly be that lucky, she sighed to herself.

He complained about the food – "Too spicy! Gods, what do you put in this stuff?"

He complained about the seats – "You need to pick up some real cushions, even that damn Two says so!"

He complained about the décor again – "What is it with these yellow lights you have everywhere? Makes everything look murky. Sickly, even. Not good for the complexion, I'm telling you."

The final straw came when he complained about the shape of the table they were seated against there in the mess – "It's too square. Tables should be round or spherical, if you ask me. Makes it easier to reach for the things you're trying to eat."

That's when Mako acted, not making any sound, no words, not even a grunt. She just flung the last end of her nerfsteak sandwich at Gault. The open-ended bit of bread plopped against the Devaronian's face, making a loud squishing sound as the sauce splattered against his cheek. He yelped, "Hey!" Kastiel watched as he jumped to his feet, yanking a bit of red nebula onion off of his skin where it'd stuck. He stood there, glaring at Mako, that onion just hanging off the end of his finger.

Mako blinked back at him, looking so innocent it had to be pretended. Her voice was sweet and sugary, even. "Oh, sorry about that Gault. I was aiming for your mouth. I figured if something went into it, you'd finally shut the hell up."

Kastiel burst out laughing, letting the acid-beets from her salad fall back down onto her plate before she dropped the spicy bites of food. Acid-beet salad was one of her favorite dishes, anyway. She'd be purely upset if she lost it to the floor. Two had been rather precise ever since his cleaning program was properly updated, enough she figured they really could eat off the floor at this point. But the droid wouldn't allow it. Even now, Two was scrambling, mop clutched in its metallic hands, to clean up the discarded sandwich bits that Gault had flung off of his face.

Kastiel pointed at Gault. "Hey, that onion would fit snuggly around your last horn, Gault! Might bring out the color in your complexion!"

"You are so not helping, here, Kas." Gault glanced towards Two, holding out the onion for the droid to retrieve.

Kastiel cocked her head sideways. "Oh, was I supposed to help you out?"

"I hate you both!" Gault spun on his heels, marching determinedly away from them and manfully ignoring the gales of laughter that followed his retreating backside.

Kas yelled after him, listening to the sound of his footfalls against the metal stairwell leading to the lower deck. "Lies, Gault! I know you by now! You adore me!" She laughed again as she heard yet more muted grumbles coming from down the stairs. Mako only sat there calmly finishing her sweetwater, draining the glass before rising to place her dishes along the counter. She glanced back at Kastiel, her eyebrow raised.

"You have another headache, don't you?"

"Just stress, is all."

"I can help make some adjustments to your implants, some tweaks of the programming perhaps. Tobie sent me some new schematics he was hoping I'd make use of. Would have said something earlier but you were off chasing down that Duke."

"Not a good idea right now. Always takes me ages to get used to the difference, and with us sitting here just waiting for Crysta to let us know where to head next … we just can't take the chance, Mako. I'll have to deal with it, is all."

"At least take a stim. Won't be any better if you're debilitated with a migraine when we finally get to take on Tarro Blood."

Kastiel shrugged, leaning against the table as she finished her meal. Mako settled next to her, turning to face the holoterminal where another Huttball match was being displayed. She'd taken to rooting for the Rotworms, so that she'd be able needle poor Corso whenever his favorite team lost to them. Kastiel was utterly confused by their courtship. Not that she could understand even the most normal of relationships. But Mako's appreciation of the soldier on her brother's crew was particularly baffling.

Corso hated the Empire, anyway. He blamed Imperials for supporting the Separatists who'd killed his family back on Ord Mantell. From what Mako told her, he only managed to forgive them their own work for the Empire because Kastiel herself decried any hint she was really loyal to them. "They pay my bills. That's about as much as I care for their damn politics."

Still. She chewed one of the beets in her salad as she thought, then swallowed. "Mako?"

"Hmmm? Wow, did you see that player jump? He had to have some kind of force ability to pull that off."

Kastiel glanced towards the holo, blinking owlishly. Huttball was almost as confusing as romance, she thought. "Mako, how'd you … um. Shit. I mean, how'd you convince Corso you were … I don't know. Interested? Attracted?"

Mako spun around suddenly, gawking at Kastiel with far more interest than she ever had Huttball. "What? Seriously? Is there someone you're interested in? Who? No … wait. This is about that Mando, right? Crap, what was his name again?"

Kastiel sighed, looking away. She muttered, "Torian. Gods, never mind."

"No way! Wow, you looked at him ages ago, months! I thought you'd forgotten all about him by now. I can't believe you're that interested. How can you be brave enough to take on the toughest trash in the galaxy but the thought of asking one Mando warrior for his attention terrifies you to pieces?"

Kastiel glared at her. "Because I know how to take on the toughest trash in the galaxy!"

"Oh. Yea, I guess it's not like holding a blaster, huh? Come on! That's funny, and you know it!" Mako ignored Kastiel's angry stare, grinning like a mad little bird, her implants glinting in the overhead lighting.

Kas shrugged, her eyes clouding as a blush washed over her features. "Forget I asked."

"No! Shit, Kas, I'll help. Serious-like, I promise. I'll … Wait ." Mako's head cocked to the side in that peculiar way Kastiel had noted every time some signal from the holonet came through her implants. "There's a holo incoming. Unfamiliar source. This might be trouble."

Kastiel glanced towards the terminal, where the light was blinking to warn of an incoming transmission, and scowled. She gestured, stepping closer to the terminal. Mako came up behind her, nodding her head just enough to activate the transmission. Kas crossed her arms across her chest, smoothing her face into the hard-edged demeanor she normally provided to outsiders. She never realized how like a Mandalorian she looked to Hedarr Soongh when he was finally able to see her, there.

* * *

_We call it _aay'han_. I've heard stories of peoples who whisper words to their gods, call upon them for aid, even. Perhaps it's like that. I don't know. _Aay'han_, for those of the __Mando'ad, is a perfect moment, one of memory, joy, and sorrow. It is a moment of the day we mourn, because in the mourning, our loved ones are remembered, and they live on._

She killed Sedyn Kyne, there on Nar Shaddaa. It wasn't a good place to die, really. The lights from the casinos and the cantinas and the shops shined ghoulishly upon the scene. The sounds of laughter, loud and raucous, filtered down to where they'd gathered together, everyone pressing close, glaring at each other, hard enough armor clanked and boots scuffled. They ignored the ribald celebrations from nearby. Yea, it was a bad place to die.

Tarro Blood, at least, called him a friend. Maybe that's what he called himself, too. Maybe it was for friendship that he acted, even. Or maybe it was that he called himself a Mandalorian. It could be he thought it was a matter of Mandalorian honor, that Tarro Blood become the Champion of the Hunt.

To Kastiel, though, Sedyn's motivations were just so much shit. Because he was nothing more than the bastard who'd shot her friend in the face.

That made him nothing but a tool, then. You don't blame the tool for the damage done, she thought, not really. It's not that Sedyn offended Kastiel's sense of justice, then, not really. She'd as much blame Blood's blaster or his blade. No, justice was due Tarro Blood. Not Sedyn Kyne, not really.

But Sedyn called himself a Mandalorian. Even as he acted contrary to everything she thought Mandalorians should be. She'd seen Mandalorians act, she'd seen them fight. And she listened to Hedarr Soongh as he stood there next to her, describing Mandalorian custom, state of mind, during the hours they waited for Sedyn to appear. He spoke of honor, he told her what it was, if only to emphasize how Sedyn violated it.

_Life is a thing to celebrate. We are family, we are clan. We treat each moment shared with great joy. We sing, we dance. We love our partners, our brothers, our friends. We love our wives, our husbands. We love our children. We do not despair, we do not surrender, we do not give up. That is not our way._

She thought of all she knew about Mandoes. She remembered. She remembered the suffocating darkness, as she lay there, feeling her mother's blood spill onto her small body, wash against her face and neck. She'd wasn't strong enough, and she'd lost them, lost her mother, lost her little brother and sister, lost. She'd struggled to breathe through the pain of it, even as her face burned red hot and her world fell dead silent.

Then the heaviness was lifted away and she could breathe again. Looking down at her was a hard cold face, a helm hiding the identity of the warrior, there. And she fought again, fought to live, to breathe, panting, gasping, wondering why the sound didn't come back, and striking against the warriors who picked her up, held her. He came, his eyes shining, brown and heady, and he washed her face, took the blood off of her. She wanted to live, then. That's what he gave her, that gladness at being alive.

They saved her, those Mandalorians. So to her, that was what Mandalorians did, that's what they were. Sedyn Kyne was nothing like that. He was a dog, a damn yipping lapdog, even. He jumped when someone else told him to, and he only stopped long enough to ask how high.

_That_ was why she killed him. She killed him because he lacked something intrinsic, that Mandalorians were supposed to bear, to hold true to. Hedarr said it was honor he'd given up, if he'd ever had it. Kastiel didn't understand Mandalorian honor. But she understood what it was to fail at being what you were supposed to be, recognized it when she saw it.

She met Sedyn head-on, placed her boot simply against his thigh, using it as a springboard to leap over him, landing solidly behind him. He'd growled as he spun his head to find her, but she was already moving, kicking him solidly in the backside hard enough he stumbled and fell down onto his knees. That's when she knocked him over to lie prone on his belly, jamming her knee into the soft area of his lower spine where his armor didn't reach. He yelped, in desperate pain.

She only leaned close enough to whisper into his ear, "Off balance, just like the rest of your life." Then she sent a blaster bolt to blaze its way through his thick skull, a simple, rather neat sort of death.

And that's when the other warriors who came with Sedyn began yelling, bitter castigations, ugly words. Hedarr shouted at them, speaking more of dishonor, demanding better of them. They turned on him, raising their weapons. He shook his head, scowling. She heard him say firmly, "You are not Mandalorians." Then they fired.

_We do not bury our dead, hunter. It's not that we don't respect nor honor them. It's merely a matter of practicality. The dead do not travel with the _Mando'ad_, except in memory. A grave would only be left behind, a body lost and forgotten when the __aliit moved on. It's better to burn them, scatter their ashes to the wind and the skies of whatever world that saw them fall. We keep, only, their armor. And sometimes just a piece of it. We do not forget._

Kastiel settled herself next to Hedarr's dying frame, smoothing her hand across the wounds on his chest as she listened to his wheezing breaths. He glanced past her, his almond-shaped eyes dull with disappointment as he regarded the dead warriors who'd killed him, men he'd fought with, defended and guided. Men he'd loved as brothers, sons. Men who'd betrayed the honor he cherished to strike him down, tried to strike at her, too. They'd lost, even if they had taken his life first. It was enough, he supposed.

Then he looked up at her, saw his death mirrored in her dark eyes. "They … let me down. _Dar'manda_."

Kastiel frowned, confused. "Don't know what that means."

"Soul-less, ignorant of their heritage. Not … Mandalorian. Not of the _Manda_! I die better than they did."

Kastiel reached out, gripped his hand. She heard Mako gasping a mournful sound behind her. "You died with your honor intact. I saw."

He nodded, closing his eyes. "My armor ruined, hmm? Take my helm. You … only one I've taught who deserves to bear it. Even if the teaching was … only today. You listened, you heard."

"I'll take it."

"Don't forget. Goodbye, hunter."

* * *

_"I'm looking for the doctor, girlie. He around here somewhere?"_

_Kas shook her head. "He was called over to that mess of a work site, where they're building that stupid statue. Some of the slaves got sick, not surprising for Dromund Kaas."_

_"Shit. I mean, dammit. Well, hell!" The bounty hunter glared at her, his bald head gleaming with sweat and specks of blood where he'd wiped against his brow. He held one strong fist pressed hard against the side of his stomach, but she could still see the blood pumping around his clenched fingers. "My language isn't exactly right for youngsters."_

_She snorted at him. "Have you seen this neighborhood? Your language, as you call it, is pretty tame. I mean, come on. What the fuck happened to your stomach?" She pointed to the bloody wound he was grimacing over._

_"I … need a doctor, kid."_

_Kas crossed her arms across her chest, looking skyward as if for patience. "I told you, he's not here. Now, if you stop calling me kid, I'll take a look at your stomach. What do you say?"_

_"Oh? And how old are you, kid?"_

_"Twelve. Tobies Mor's been raising me, right here in this clinic, ever since I was itty bitty. And I ask a lot of questions, believe me. If that's a blaster-made wound, I have a good chance of fixing it. Up to you, though."_

_"How old is itty bitty supposed to be?"_

_"Gonna bleed to death before you let me look at it?"_

_The bounty hunter laughed. "You have real gumption, girlie. I like ya." He eased himself up onto a nearby medical table, scowling as his side twisted in the moving. He slowly took his fist away from his side, watching as Kas moved closer, pulling a tray with various medical tools along with her. He kept watching her, too, even as she worked fast to unbuckle his chestplate and cut the edges of his torn shirt away from the wound._

_"Fuck, that hurts!"_

_Kas continued probing against the hole in the bounty hunter's stomach. The edges had been cauterized by the heat of the bolt, but the hunter's movement since the initial wounding had caused it to bleed steadily in the hours that followed. He was going to pass out very soon, she thought. It was imperative she get him settled before that happened, because there really was little chance she could move him very far after he became dead weight._

_And based on the wound she was looking at, this bounty hunter wasn't keen on being found by any Imperial troops at the moment. It was a soldier's weapon that made the hole she was examining._

_"Well, stop squirming around. Here. Pain relief. Then shut up." The hunter's features smoothed out as the medicine dispersed through the stim Kastiel applied to his side. He blinked at her, his eyes glassy and unfocused. She heard him murmur something low, more like a rumble of indiscriminate sound, his head drooping. She finished her treatment quickly, spreading salve along the wound before fusing the edges together into a neat, tidy line using a cauterizing tool. Wouldn't even scar, she thought proudly. "Okay, come on. Move towards the rear of the clinic, now. There's another room back there, easier to hide the entry way if need be."_

_"And why would ya think I need hiding, girlie?"_

_"Well, at least you're not calling me kid anymore. Even though you're still acting like I'm stupid or something. Hide. Now."_

_He shook his head, stopping to lean against the doorway into the room Kastiel was guiding him towards. He turned his head sideways, trying to appear stern and foreboding. "Don't be thinking you can get one over on me."_

_She sighed with some small degree of disgust. "Seriously? Hunter, if I'd been angling to get one over on you, I could've done so easily. With a stim. Just now. Hell, you're half out of it even now. Want to see if I can knock you over?"_

_He eyed her like she was half-mad, even as a grin inched its way across his tired features. "If you were male, I'd say you have balls."_

_"My being female doesn't make me a prissy little mouse, idiot."_

_He grinned at her again, just before stumbling inside of Tobie's hiding room. He settled himself onto the cot set against the back wall, groaning against the twinge of pain along his now healing wound. He draped an arm over his eyes, ignoring Kas as she checked the bandage she'd adhered to his side one more time. She set a droid in the room, then, directing it to provide water and foods as needed._

_The hunter grunted only when Kas made to leave the room. "Not a mouse, no. A tough little nut of a female, rather. You'll go places, girlie. I'd like to watch you at it. What're you called?"_

_"I'm Kas. Kastiel."_

_"Braden is my name. Come talk to me later on. It'll probably get boring as shit in here before long."_

_"I won't leave you here to rot, sheesh. You'll be sick of me before the end, I bet."_

_"No way. You're too interesting. G'bye fer now, Kas."_

Kastiel opened her eyes, blinking around her at the glow of the nighttime lights in her quarters. The quiet washed over her, the hum of the ship's engines soothing against the background. She murmured, lying there, feeling comfortable in the familiar confines. She remembered, she thought, and she whispered, "_Aay'han_." She drifted, near sleeping.

And then Gault yelled, the heavy tread of his stomping footfalls thudding through the entire ship as he jumped and chased the monkey-lizard, "Quinnie! You damn monster! This time, I really am going to shoot you! Fucker, you _ate_ my favorite boot! You realize how much that will hurt coming back out?"

* * *

**Aay'han is the mando'a word that describes a "perfect moment" where the Mandalorian remembers and mourns the dead. The closest interpretation of the word, actually, is "bittersweet". In Karen Traviss' "The Mandalorians: People and Culture", there's some description of aay'han as a nightly ritual, almost like a prayer, where the warrior pauses to remember. **

**It's as much a ritual of joy, though, as it is grief, so I included some humorous moments, too, for my own soon-to-be Mando, here.**

**Dar'manda is a state of being soulless. It's a word given to those ignorant of their Mandalorian heritage and thus denied access to the Manda, or afterlife. Most Mandalorians regard it a terrible fate.**


	48. Chapter 47 -- Lost in the Dark

Torian frowned, watching the beast skitter towards the shadows at the back of the cave. The thing possessed four limbs, two in the front slightly longer than the ones at its rear end. Its head was large, bulbous, with a wide mouth lined with glittering rows of sharp teeth. Two horns perched at the top of its skull. It looked, in fact, like some sort of mutated Devaronian, like one of those people just turned wrong, somehow.

It was the teeth they were hunting, directed to the location by one of the Sith at the Citadel in Kaas City. She'd cast them a friendly smile as she spoke to the _Alor'ad_. Jogo had been impressed enough with her beauty he tried flirting, almost strutting there behind Fett as the blonde woman offered up the challenge. Torian had blatantly ignored his boasts, whispered aside to them as they gathered together. "Woman like that needs a real warrior. I can give her that," he'd bragged.

Torian had watched the woman, though. Something about her didn't feel right. Every instinct he had said to beware her attention, avoid it utterly. He was glad when she finally strolled away, her curved hips swaying seductively as she moved. Fett returned to them, kneeling down onto a knee as he began describing the hunt they were going to make.

Jogo continued bragging, swearing he'd take more of the beasts. Wagers began flying, as the warriors argued which of them would bring back the most teeth. Torian smiled slightly, "I'll take my share. Beat you all!" Jogo guffawed, as he always did.

But Fett nodded at Torian's quiet assuredness. "We'll all take prizes today. The place she described is one I'm familiar with, hunted there before. The beasts are large, aggressive. And there are many. Best to take the jaws entirely. She says she needs the teeth intact, so don't go cracking at them to loose them beforehand."

"What would she need the teeth for?" Torian pondered the question aloud. But Jogo laughed.

"Maybe she's making a necklace from the things! She'll wear them around her neck when she attends one of those fancy gatherings of theirs, huh?"

Torian shook his head at that. "No. She's Sith. They use magic, Jogo. Best to be prepared for that."

"What, _aru'tal_? You're afraid?"

Fett held up one single hand. "Enough. Jogo! You go too far! Speak some more, and I'll let Torian show you the wisdom of his blades, too."

Torian breathed in heavily as he watched Jogo shoot him a mean, dirty look before settling back against his the heels of his boots, finally quiet. The man's resentment had only grown over the many months they'd fought together. He'd taken to trying to provoke Torian to violence, even, insisting he'd show Torian was reckless, brash - overconfident. Dev mocked him for it, saying, "He doesn't wear _your_ armor, Jogo. He isn't you."

It only made Torian more certain he needed to finish it, regain his name's honor. He'd waited long enough. It helped to know Fett was moving his team to Taris soon, responding to the Empire's call for fighters, there.

But not today. Today, they hunted on Dromund Kaas, looking for a witch's prize. Torian leaned forward, listening for the chattering of the beast's teeth, held his breath for a moment. There! His staff whipped out and around, the ends lighting up the cavern for a single, breathless moment, long enough for his target to let out a frightened wail. The thunk of his weapon against the thing's head echoed in the space, followed by the squelching sound of blood and gristle that erupted from its cracked skull.

Dev murmured to Torian as he knelt down to swipe his blade against the creature's jaw, "_Ori'jate_. _Copaani gaan_?"

"_Nayc_. Not with this. There may be more, though. _Hukaat'kama_."

"I will, Torian."

They kept their voices low, quiet. The dark encouraged it, if only so the warriors could better hear if something – anything – approached. Even Jogo kept carefully silent, his head canted as he listened for the clattering of claws against the stone or the clacking of jaws along bristling teeth. But Torian sensed something else, something … bigger and far more dangerous. It was … a presence, as if the cave itself was alive, like they were walking into its very heart. The walls seemed to pulse and beat with the dark, terrible energy of the thing.

Torian wondered who was really the hunter there in that cave. Who was really the prey?

He grunted as he cut loose the jaw of the creature he'd killed, stuffing it smoothly into his pack. He nodded towards the _Alor'ad_, saw Fett incline his chin in quiet reply before gesturing for the troop to move forward. They stepped carefully. Jogo grunted, "I took more, outside."

"Quiet, Jogo." Fett muttered.

Then they stopped, as a heavy, deep-throated growl emerged from the dark ahead of them. Torian's eyes narrowed as he tried to see, strained his head forward. He heard Fett's helmet-mounted sights whirring as he looked ahead of them, his fist upraised. Fett rasped, "Big …"

And then the warrior at the front of their group went down, crashing to the dust of the floor with a loud thud and a yelp as something grabbed his leg. He clawed at the ground for purchase, gasping behind his helmet's faceplate, as blood spurted from up against his lower half. Dev yelped, jumping for him, ignoring Fett's warning cry, "No! Everyone back, back! Get out!"

Torian called out, "Dev!" He felt Fett grip his shoulder, pulling him back. He wasn't able to grab at Dev in time enough. He watched, saw Dev reach the fallen warrior, pull at his arm. But they were both suddenly yanked forward, hard, disappearing into the inky darkness. Torian clenched his jaw, pulling against Fett's hold, as the sounds of crunching filled the space.

Dev screamed out one time. And then, suddenly, he flew back at them from out of the dark. Flew hard, smacking into the wall just in front of them, with force enough to leave a solid crack there in stone. Torian moaned, rushing forward to grab his friend's body. Fett yelled at him, "_Slana'pir_!"

He grabbed Dev, slung him up and over his shoulder. Dev hung limply against him, unmoving, making no sound. Not even a breath. Torian turned, rushing towards Fett, who helped by grabbing Dev's other arm. Together, they pulled the wounded Mando, moving quickly towards the entrance of the cave.

Torian almost collapsed, then. Dev was a dead weight against him. But he moaned, suddenly, and Torian gasped in relief. He lowered his friend down, looking at him as his black eyes glittered with dull, terrible pain. He scanned Dev quickly, grimaced when he saw the gaping wound across the whole of his stomach that exposed the twisted ropes of his intestines. Even the armor had been ripped away, leaving jagged edges of metal that dug into the ripped length of Dev's diaphragm above the wound.

Dev shuddered. "_Vor entye_, Torian. You … _burcyan_ … for me. Best."

"_Mandokarla, burc'ya!_" Torian felt his throat tighten, wanted to scream, cry out against his friend leaving, marching away while he stayed behind. Like his mother. Like Korwis.

But Dev only smiled. "_Aliit ori'shya taldin_. _Ner vod_ … Torian."

Torian watched as Dev's eyes went vacant, blank. He blinked, sighing rather than crying out loud, hanging his head until his forehead rested against Dev's still-armored shoulder. His chest felt heavy, hard. Tears burned against his clenched eyes. Then he felt the press of hard hands against his back, as the troop gathered around them, there. It was Jogo who whispered as he knelt down next to them, though. He said, "We'll all carry him, Torian. He was _vod_. But you carry his helmet. He would've wanted you to have it."

* * *

"I need to see the body, mandalorian. Show me." The Sith's voice was sweet, friendly. Even in the face of the men's quiet and stoic grief. Fett frowned, staring back at her for several long moments.

"Why?"

"Are you truly questioning my need of this thing?"

"It is no 'thing' you ask after. He was a worthy warrior, rather. One of our own. He died well, battling to save the life of another. I'll not have him dishonored in death." Vorten Fett crossed his arms across his chest, refraining from glaring even as he stayed intransigent.

The Sith glanced past him at the blood-splattered armor of the warriors ringing the unmoving form of their friend. Her eyes gleamed brightly. "Leave off, mandalorian. I don't anticipate any reason to – how did you put it? – _dishonor_ your dead. I only wish to examine his remains." She waved a single, pale hand. "It will only take a moment."

Fett did glare at her then. They stood there for a long, hard instant, looking like nothing more than two stubborn bulls preparing to charge across a field at each other. But Fett ultimately nodded. "A moment, only. We have to prepare him for cremation."

Torian frowned, watching as the blonde-haired Sith glided towards his friend's body. She motioned towards the young woman following her, murmuring something low he couldn't quite discern. The Sith's follower was the one who knelt down next to Dev's body, lifting the edges of the cloth they'd used to cover him.

"I see one, master."

"Only one?"

"Yes. Lodged in one of his intestinal walls, master."

"Very well," the Sith sighed. "Retrieve it for me."

Fett loomed next to the Sith, suddenly. "What is it?"

"Why, mandalorian. So close at hand, hmm? It's a tooth, of course. The beast bit him." She purred, probably meaning to sound sultry and seductive. To Torian, however, she sounded more like he'd imagine a bad bit of perfumed oil that was meant to hide something nasty-smelling. A deception of the senses, basically.

Fett scowled. "We have lots of teeth from those beasts."

"I imagine so. But this is the only one I want. It would've been better if I had more, of course. But alas. I must make do. I'll simply have to be extra careful as I conduct the ritual." She giggled, then. Torian looked away before his face might actually show how much disgust he was feeling right then.

Fett clenched his hands. "Take it. And leave."

"Of course. I'll send payment."

They all stood there watching as the Sith sauntered down the ramp, heading towards the nearby Citadel. Jogo huffed a heavy sigh. "Nasty. What was she called, again?"

Fett muttered. "Darth Zash." He looked back at his men, then. They stood there, looking almost stunned. He sighed, turning around to face them. He glanced down at Dev's broken form. "We say farewell to our dead tonight. _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_. Remember this day. Never trust a Sith, when they ask you to fight for them. Their purpose is often hidden and rarely worthy."

Torian nodded, reaching down to lift up Dev's body once again. They all looked when a warrior rushed out from the Enclave, shouting, "Vorten! Come! The Mandalore has called for you." Fett frowned as he gestured towards his men.

"I have dead to see to. What's happened?"

"It's the Hunt! Tarro Blood was captured by the Jedi!"

Torian stared at the young warrior. He heard several gasps break from the warriors around him. Jogo panted, "No! How is it he failed?" Fett motioned them to quiet, looked at the warrior.

"What about the hunter from Hutta?"

"She's just arriving! The Mandalore has eyes into the place, tapped into their ship's computers. We can see and hear everything! It's how we know Tarro's been captured. He wants you to come, to witness the rest."

Torian grasped against Dev's cold shoulder, sighing. He'd told Jogo to beware Sith magic. He suddenly wondered what sort of terrible magic was at work, that the last breath holding him to this place had been bought with such a terrible price. It was like a light shining into the dark, though. He began to breathe with hope once again.

* * *

**Lots of Mando'a used in this chapter. Bear with me:**

**_Alor'ad_ - captain, squad leader**

**_Ori'jate_ - phrase meaning "very good"**

**_Copaani gaan_ - phrase meaning "need a hand?"**

**_Nayc - _no**

**_Hukaat'kama_ - phrase meaning "watch my back"**

**_Slana'pir_ - phrase meaning "get out!"**

**_Vor entye_ - thank you (literally "I accept your debt")**

**_burcyan_ - friendship, a close bond**

**_Mandokarla -_ phrase meaning "you've got the right stuff"**

**_burc'ya _- my friend**

**_Aliit ori'shya taldin _- phrase meaning "family is more than blood" (common Mandalorian saying)**

**_Ner vod_ - my brother / sister (Mandalorians don't specify gender in their language)**

**_vod _ - brother / sister / comrade**

**_Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la _- phrase meaning "Not gone, merely marching far away (Mandalorian saying for the departed)**


	49. Chapter 48 -- Winning the Hunt

**Took me forever to get this right. I actually started and deleted the document almost three times. There were some scenes I wasn't certain of but I just can't remove them from the final telling. So much dang excitement, fun, and laughing in this final mission of Chapter 1, I love it! It's one of my absolute faves! I hope I nabbed it, here, fingers crossed.**

* * *

Kastiel stared through the viewscreen at the Republic cruiser. The ship hung there, solid against the star-strewn backdrop. Mako leaned over her console, her fingers flying. "The Aurora's pinging messages, Kas. Apparently, they've captured what they're calling 'an assassin' intent on killing the Jedi Master Kellian Jarro. Huh. I really could laugh my ass off about Tarro's piss-poor day."

Gault looked over from the other seat, grinning. "Maybe they'll truss him up for us. Put an apple in his mouth. We could roast him over a fire!"

"Ewww, Gault. Just … ewww."

Kastiel smiled at them as the Bad Boy continued its steady glide towards the cruiser. "He'd probably give you a sour stomach, Gault. I'd avoid chomping on the guy, if I were you."

The commlink suddenly crackled, the voice accented with Republic basic. "_Unidentified vessel, be warned, we're tracking your approach. This ship is currently defended by a master of the Jedi Order. You will not succeed in harming this ship or its crew. Turn back, or you will be placed under arrest and brought before a Republic tribunal for judgment._"

Gault grumbled. "Someone should tell them how damn stubborn you are, Kas."

"They wouldn't believe it."

"They might, if you chase them across a planet-wide desert just before loosing a monkey-lizard on 'em."

The Bad Boy suddenly lurched, hard enough that Kastiel actually stumbled forward against the back of Gault's chair. Mako cried out, "Tractor beam!"

"Hey, this is great. I was wondering how we were going to get on board." Kastiel grinned happily as she leaned over to look at the opening of the hangar they were being pulled into.

Gault chuckled. "And we don't even have to park!"

Mako only shook her head. "You're both insane. I always knew it."

Kastiel rolled her head back and forth against her shoulders, breathing in and out. She checked her blasters one more time. Then she smiled towards her friends. "Insane or not, it's time to finish this."

* * *

The soldier actually reached out and grabbed at his rifle, gripping the barrel and yanking him off balance, enough he fell forward, falling against the man. He hissed near the fellow's ear, lashing out with his tongue to swipe across the sensitive area under his neck. The soldier yelled out, a fairly wild and panicked cry, leaping backwards even as he slapped a beefy hand against the side of his neck, trying to swipe it clean of Gault's spittle.

Gault chuckled, watching him. Kastiel yelled over at him, working fast at the modifications she was making to her jet pack while ducked down behind one of the engineering stations. She called out to him, "Dammit, Gault. I told you not to eat anyone! We're not here for dinner!"

The soldier's eyes went wide with shock and fear. Gault stopped himself from laughing out loud, but he still grinned broadly. He extended his long, long tongue, mockingly shaking it back and forth, looking like nothing so much evil and dangerous, for just a moment. He shouted out, "Come on, Kas! This one looks ripe enough. That last guy you let me munch on was too damn skinny."

Kastiel glanced over at them, sliding her gaze deliberately up and down the muscled form of the soldier Gault was contending with. "Well. Maybe a leg."

Gault leaned forward, his mouth twisted into a wicked grin as he regarded the soldier. "Wonderful. Let's play, shall we?"

The man shuddered. "Damn monsters, that's what you are. All of you!"

Gault laughed hard, then, even as he glided backwards slightly, lining up his shot carefully. Superstitious humans and their myths – devils, demons, ghouls. They were so easily frightened, so simply threatened. And their fear kept them from reacting in time enough, kept them off balance, askew. Long enough he could blow their heads off. Sheer perfection, he thought, even as his rifle shot up and the bolt flew fast, hard, striking the soldier straight in the center of his breastplate.

The shot came from close enough the man's armor proved meaningless against the force of the flying bolt. It sizzled through the metal, past his skin and sternum, to impact solidly with his beating heart. The organ literally dissolved from the blow. Gault watched the man's eyes, saw them become dull and lifeless. He fell sideways, his legs simply caving under him as he died.

Gault trotted towards Kastiel, kneeling next to her as he eased his head up and over the console so that he could see the chief engineer, perched high on a platform overlooking the engineering section. The man was frantically shouting into his commlink, calling for soldiers to secure the machines below. Too late, he thought, as he saw Mako at another console across the room, her small hands darting across the terminal in front of her, tapping against the buttons there.

Alarms began sounding in the place. The engineer shouted above the cacophony, obviously addressing someone on the bridge, above, "Dammit, what happened to our reinforcements? Get them down here, now, or the entire ship is gonna be blown to pieces! They're activating the self-destruct … What, do you think they're going to just sit here on their asses in the engineering section? They'll head for the bridge next, you idiot! … Oh, who gives a rat's ass? I'll be dead before you fools figure out what the hell to do."

Kastiel shot Gault a toothy grin. "Gotta love Republic efficiency, huh?" Gault laughed at her, thinking for a sudden moment how much like Zale she really was. Independent, focused, fun-loving – he really was glad she'd sicced that damn monkey-lizard on him. Wait, scratch that. Not glad for the monkey-lizard. No friggin' way! But he definitely didn't mind anymore that she'd shot him in the ass.

Kas made one final adjustment on her jetpack, grunting as Mako tumbled into cover with them, smiling. "Got it, Kas! Once we hit the controls on the bridge, the ship is toast! Did what you asked, too, and broadcast the self-destruct warning. Anyone who wants to can make for the escape pods or shuttles."

Gault smirked. "Hope they don't plan on getting onto the Bad Boy. I rigged the airlock entry with an electronic discharge. Complete with monkey-lizard back-up, too."

"Just make sure we don't end up getting bit by a monkey-lizard when it's time to hightail it out of here, Gault." Kastiel shrugged.

"There is no way that little rat will bite you, Kas. Me? Maybe, and just for fun. But I think he has a peculiar affinity for your butt."

Mako smacked him. "How you made it past adolescence is beyond me."

"What? It's a nice butt! And please. Don't remind me of my adolescence. You have no idea what it's like being a teenager on Devaron."

That's when the engineer finally started shouting down at them. Kastiel looked up towards the platform where the guy was standing, feet spread as he gesticulated at her. She gauged the distance between them shrewdly. "You might as well make for your ship, make a break for it. There's no way you can get up here. And I won't open the doors for you to get any further."

Kastiel turned, so that she faced the platform, even as she remained kneeling behind the console while she shouted up at the man. "You know what it takes to succeed at a hunt? The proper tools." Kastiel leaped high, smacking against her jetpack controls. Gault pushed Mako against the floor as Kas' pack fired, sending her in a tremendous bounding jump from her place behind the console towards the platform above. She actually sailed right into the engineer's face, hitting him hard enough she easily broke his nose with the top of her head. They fell into a heap, there on the platform, with the engineer groaning a sad warbling sound of pain and misery.

Kastiel jumped to her feet. Gault was screaming, "Kas! You in one piece up there, or what? Crazy-ass hunter! Why do I put up with this shit?" She reached down, grabbing the engineer's booted foot. He yelped as she yanked at his leg as hard as she could, pulling him in a solid line to the edge of the platform.

"Stop yammering, you friggin' loud-mouthed gremlin! Here! Catch!"

Gault chuckled as the engineer flew over the side of the platform. Blood was streaming into his mouth from his broken nose, so that he actually bubbled a pained bark of distress as he flew through the air, really. The Devaronian went to stand over him, as he lay there flat on his back on the floor of his own engineering section. Gault grinned down at him, "What's that saying, about how the mighty fall? Not that you were ever so mighty or anything."

"Stop torturing the idiot." Mako leaned over the collapsed engineer, handing him a soggy cloth. "For your nose. Best get your ass moving to the nearest escape pod."

The man grimaced. But he still snatched the cloth out of the cyborg's hand, just before rolling over to gasp out a couple of breaths as he knelt there on all fours. They watched him pretty much crawl towards the nearby doorway. Mako glanced up, saw that Kastiel had moved to the engineer's console and started pressing various buttons. She called up to her.

"Need some help?"

"No. Stay there. I'll have it … there."

They glanced over as the nearby doors leading up and out of the engineering section clanged open. Gault grunted when a heavy length of rope dropped onto his head, then. "Dammit, Kas! I know you don't need to _climb_ down from there."

"Not me, no." Kas jetted down from the platform, landing next to the both of them with a soft thud. "But I do want you up there, Gault. Climb your ass up there and keep watch over the controls to the self-destruct. Can't have them stop the self-destruct before we secure the bridge. That's where me and Mako will head."

Gault nodded. "Good thinking, yea. Mako, you good?"

"Why does everyone wonder if I can handle myself," Mako whined.

"Well, you are a rather tiny bit of fluffy female. That Corso fellow worries himself silly about you. You should hear how many messages he sends telling me to keep an eye on you, or else lose my balls. I _like_ my balls." Gault sighed.

Kastiel smirked when Mako muttered about "overprotective men and their overprotective tendencies". "Now I really know why he gave me 'zinger', sheesh. Like I need or want to be wrapped up in cotton, or something."

Kas muttered, "Zinger?"

Mako held up the blaster she was using. "It's a Coruscant Security Force issue blaster, modified with a recharging power cell and targeting laser. Still not sure, in fact, how he managed to nab the thing. I kind of thought he gave it to me in order to hide the fact he took it, even. When are we ever going to run into Coruscant Security Forces, huh?"

Kas laughed. "And now you know it's cause he always thought you were a 'fluffy female'."

Mako murmured, following Kastiel out of the room, "I'll show him how damn 'fluffy' I am the next time I see him."

* * *

"You have got to tell me the truth. Because I need to know how you manage it. How the hell is it you can be locked up in there, your armor stripped, your weapons gone – but your stupid face is still painted prettily?" Kastiel watched Tarro Blood as he came to his feet and approached the crimson glow of the security field, scowling back at her.

"You killed my friend, you mongrel bitch!" Tarro snarled, shaking his fist at her. "You cut Sedyn down like a dog, snuck on him from out of the dark!"

Kastiel cocked her head, gazing at him with mild amazement. "You're projecting, Blood. Not everyone fights the way you do. I don't have to wait for my opponents to be looking the other way when I shoot them, after all. Sedyn Kyne met me there, I didn't sneak up on him."

"Bitch! I hate you! You just wouldn't give up! Why?"

She shrugged. "If the only way you could succeed was for everyone else to give up, what the hell worth is your success, really? You make fights you can't possibly win, because you have no sense of honorable victory."

"Now you're sounding like that old fool Hedarr Soongh. The only good thing that came of Sedyn's dying is that that bastard died, too. Winning is everything! You do whatever you have to to win!"

Kastiel shook her head. "Cheating provides a cheap victory. Deep down you know the truth, Blood. You know you can't win, except through deceit and fakery. It makes you nothing but an imitation, a shoddy lie! You're not a Mandalorian! You just dress up like one, pretending!"

"Really? Let me out of here, so that I can retrieve my armor and weapons from that locker over there. And I'll show you how much of a Mandalorian I really am!"

Mako leaned forward, her chin quivering and her eyes blazing. She was almost spitting, she was so bitterly angry. She pointed at Tarro Blood, "Fuck you! You don't deserve to die better than Braden did! I say we leave him here, Kas. Let him watch the ship come apart around him as he sits here in his little red box! It's what he deserves!"

Kastiel shook her head. "But _I_ deserve to see the look on his face when I shoot him down, Mako. Braden would've liked it that way, would've laughed his ass off if he knew I used the blaster he gave me when I started hunting to take down the pig that killed him." She looked at Tarro, speaking solemnly then. "He killed someone I loved, too, Mako."

Mako sighed, her dark eyes moist, gleaming. "I'll get his shit out of the locker. Hold on."

Kastiel stood there, watching Tarro Blood. The man was almost trembling with keen fervor, his make-up laden face showing vivid interest in Mako's motions, as the cyborg dragged the locker back towards his cell. Mako dumped her burden next to the security field before she moved towards the nearby console, so that she could deactivate the field. Tarro almost jumped onto the locker, yanking it open to retrieve his shiny armor. He hurriedly pulled it into place, as Kas stood there watching him with derisive humor glinting her dark eyes, especially when he grumbled over some new scratches in his breastplate.

Hell, she thought. That's what paint's for, to smoothly obscure the telltale signs of violence that marked the life of a hunter on her equipment. Well, and to maybe display some signs of personal achievement. Not that Kas ever marked her armor to display the number of kills she made. Not like … she nearly laughed when she caught sight of the hashmarks on Tarro's shoulder plate, until she remembered that Braden's life might be represented by one of those damn lines.

"Tell me, Tarro. Are the marks on your shoulder kills you yourself actually made? Or do you include the ones you directed others to make for you?" Kastiel sneered.

He glared at her furiously. "You're a fool if you think I'm going to allow you to make me into any notch on your armor, hunter. I won't die today!"

She leaned back, looking at him with contempt. "Really? I'm looking forward to seeing you try and avoid it. Should prove amusing, at least."

"Then laugh yourself into a damn pyre. I don't really care. I'll do whatever it takes, though. Don't doubt that." He was almost shouting by the end, growing nearly hysterical. Kastiel watched his eyes, the fear blooming there, knew he was on the brink of sheer madness even. Like a cornered rat, she thought.

He suddenly launched himself, moving fast. Mako cried out a warning as the warrior almost sprinted for the door leading out of the room, yelling, "What! Where do you think you're going, dammit! Get your ass back here before I shoot it off!" Mako spun around when she heard Kastiel loose a tired, exhausted sigh. "What just happened?"

Kas shrugged. "He's doing 'whatever it takes', obviously. I'm just wondering if he'll really go through with it."

"With what?"

"Mako, come on. Who on this ship has a chance of beating me? It's certainly not Tarro Blood, and he knows it."

Mako was thoughtful, dumbfounded. "He wouldn't do that! The Clans would hunt him down!"

Kastiel grimaced as she began striding in the direction Blood had fled, moving with deliberate and determined motion. "Whatever it takes, he said," she muttered. She heard Mako step behind her, into the hallway that led up into the bridge. Tarro's cell had been placed close enough, probably to allow for access so that the Jedi could question him. She stepped out onto the bridge, watched the scrambling of various Republic soldiers and officers among the various consoles.

Several shouts of alarm sounded through the space, then. Kastiel watched as the two officers holding Tarro Blood in front of a robed figure up near the massive viewport turned around, releasing Blood's arms so that they could rush at her, their weapons raised up, ready. Kas shouted towards Mako, "Cover and sprint, Mako!" Mako scrambled behind a nearby edge of wall, while Kastiel raised one single fist to let a single missile fly at the oncoming soldiers. The explosion ripped through the bridge, causing the men caught up in its radius to scream out, the both of them falling backwards in flaming heaps. Remaining technicians scrambled for the doors, running fast to escape the confrontation.

Kastiel shook her head, wiping against her cheek, where a line of blood caused by a piece of flying debris was smarting. She grunted as she stepped closer to the group standing in front of the viewport. Tarro Blood was glaring at her again, snarling, "I told you! She's crazy! I came here to save you from her. Help me kill her, now!"

Kastiel utterly ignored the Jedi, glancing at him only long enough to observe his stoic resolve, his careful consideration of the both of them. He stood there, quiet, his arms held loosely in front of himself, with his fingers clasped together. A smaller female stood behind him, close, a Mirialan, her dark hair cropped short against her green-skinned neck. Kastiel focused on Tarro, though.

"You know, Blood. It's not exactly that easy to shoot a Jedi in the back. They're usually better than to be taken by surprise. Not like an old bounty hunter who counts on the honor of the Hunt." Kastiel inclined her head towards the robed Jedi.

"Shut up! This isn't a trick! He knows I mean it! He knows I'm serious when I offer to help him against you." Tarro gesticulated madly. Kastiel frowned as she noted the subtle inclination of the Jedi's bald head, the agreement twisting his bearded lips.

Mako growled, "You'll never be able to go back, Blood. The Clans will eat you alive if you do this!"

"The Mandalorians are nothing! They're worth nothing!" Tarro Blood stomped his foot as if to emphasize his point, shaking his head wildly. "Come on, Jedi. If you value your life, you'll do as I say. You'll kill this hunter, save yourself from their Hunt."

Kastiel murmured one single word, the worst word that could ever be offered a Mandalorian fighter. She stepped closer to Tarro, close enough he couldn't fail to hear her, and she said, "Coward." Kastiel's blaster whipped up, smacking against Tarro Blood's head. He cried out in pain, just once, before Kas placed the barrel smoothly against his temple and fired. Tarro's head disappeared in a bloom of red blood and brains, splattering against his pale, gleaming armor and Kastiel's face and front.

The tiny Mirialan Jedi cried out, one terrible scream of panicked shock. But her master waved a calming hand in her direction. He looked with sadness down at Tarro's remains, shaking his head. "You live your life with much violence, hunter. Does it ever sorrow you?"

Kastiel frowned at him. "What you're really asking is if I live my life with regrets, Jedi. The answer is no. It's my life, and I live it as I please. And this? This is a man not worthy of regret, believe me."

He regarded her with somber consideration. "He spoke truly, then. You were sent by the Mandalorians to destroy me, because I am Kellian Jarro. But there's no need to fight me. The Battle of Coruscant was fought many years ago. Revenge profits no one."

She was thoughtful as she looked back at him with curiosity. "Is this the Jedi notion of justice? Time passes and wrongs done are simply forgotten?"

"You are here for the sake of justice?"

"Not mine, nope. I'm nothing but a tool sent to deliver someone else's justice, rather."

"I am sorry for you, then. I'll ask you to lay down your weapons and surrender."

Kastiel stared at him, utterly perplexed. She placed her hands on her hips, frowning quietly. "So … has that ever worked? Really?"

He released his clasped fingers, letting his hands hang loosely against his sides. He shook his head, "Some people have sense. Others must be persuaded." He waved one of his hands in front of him. "You will drop your weapons and surrender to me."

Kastiel blinked. She glanced towards Mako, who shrugged at her. She knew it was supposed to be Jedi magic, wondered what it was supposed to do. But he just stood there, waiting. She shook her head, waving her own hand back at him. "And you will realize what a complete idiot you are."

The Mirialan became flustered, frightened, warbling a plaintive cry, "Master?"

The Jedi settled back on his heels, his lips pressed together. "It's all right, Padawan. I will handle this. This bounty hunter simply has a stronger will than the other one."

Mako chuckled. "As if we needed a Jedi to tell us that."

"Stop it, Mako. The little green girl has never seen Jedi magic that didn't work before. It's probably shocking as hell."

Kellian Jarro interrupted them, then. He spoke adamantly. "I implore you not to throw your life away, bounty hunter."

"You live by a code, right, Jedi? Well, so do I. And it's just as precious, trust me." Kastiel flung a concussive grenade at the little Mirialan suddenly, watched as the small green female cried out, shocked, before falling over in quiet unconsciousness.

"Thendys! I will not allow you to harm my padawan, hunter!" The Jedi turned to strike at her with a solid mass of … something. It was hard, cold. It picked her up so that she flew across the space of the bridge before hitting the floor with brutal force. Kastiel gasped desperately for breath, heard Mako yelling out her name, "Kas! No!"

Then she saw him, a blur of flying robes and the flashing green luminescence of his lightsaber. Even as she fought to drag a bit of air into her lungs, she was pulling both her blasters up in front of her. Everything froze for just a moment, a terrible tableaux, two enemies stuck in time. It was a scene she'd remember all her days, that Jedi poised to destroy her, as she fought for her life.

And the bolts flew, as Kastiel unloaded, pulling against the triggers with every bit of verve and skill she possessed. Those bolts spun through the air to catch at the shocked Jedi, who'd anticipated a stunned opponent and wasn't prepared for such a rapid response. He deflected the first and then the second bolt, even as he flew. But then one caught him, high in the abdomen. Then another. And another. More. The riddle of bolts slowed his momentum, so that he ended up just falling out of the air, landing hard on the floor next to Kastiel. Both of them lay there, breathlessly wheezing, winded. Blood pulsed from the Jedi, spreading across the floor to soak against Kastiel's shoulder.

Mako rushed over, yanking and pulling at Kastiel until the bounty hunter was sitting up. Kastiel came to a knee, staring down at Kellian Jarro. He looked back at her, his eyes growing dim and dark. He whispered, "Not Thendys. Please. Did … nothing to them."

Kastiel nodded. "She's no target of mine today."

He panted slowly, desperately. "There is no … death. Only the Force." Kastiel watched his life grow dark and finally disappear, his features going slack and limp. She shook her head.

"Force or not, he looks pretty dead to me."

Mako muttered an agreement. "Yea, Jedi don't make much sense."

Kastiel climbed back to her feet, gesturing towards the bridge controls. "Mako, get the self-destruct set right. Let Gault know it's time to make his way back to the Bad Boy. I'll wake up the little Jedi."

"I'm glad we're letting her go. She seemed so pitiful."

Kas grumbled to herself. "I'll probably end up regretting it."

* * *

Artus leaned back, his dark skinned face lined with heavy satisfaction. He glanced towards the other warriors gathered together there in the room, and he smiled. "I will want to see my Champion on the Spirit of Vengeance. She's everything I've been waiting for, and more."

The Huntmaster stepped closer. "The ceremony of victory should be here, at the Enclave."

"Indeed. Present her to the Clans."

Lek gestured. "They've been fighting for her before. They'll want her even more after today. She'll have to beat off suitors with a damn stick."

Vorten Fett nodded. "I've been listening to the younger warriors. They're practically drooling over her, even when she's barely noticed them."

Artus chuckled, staring at the holoterminal where an image of Kastiel Blade was frozen. She was liberally splattered with blood and gore, her features twisted with pain as she lay there on the floor. But she was fighting, fighting with determination to survive, to win, to walk away with victory. Her blasters were raised up, bolts flying, her dark eyes shining. "Just think how fierce the fights will be once I call her my child."


	50. Chapter 49 -- Presenting the Champion

Lek raised his head up as he entered the room, scanning the space to find the hunter. He whispered her name to himself, because she was far more than some nameless hunter now. So he murmured her name, when he finally spied her, standing next to the wall of windows against the far side of the room, whispered, "Kastiel."

She didn't look up when he came inside the room. He stopped, watching her. She was holding a helmet in her slender hands, handled it, smoothing her fingers across its faceplate. Behind her, the dark gray skies of Dromund Kaas were dripping, rain falling against the glass of the windows. Her hair fell forward to frame the curves of her jaw, so that her pale, creamy skin almost glowed in the soft, dim light coming in through the windows, looking extraordinarily soft against the cold hardness of her armor, the greens and browns that flowed up and down her torso.

Lek's lips parted as he breathed, very methodically and deliberately, as he realized how incredibly perfect a Mandalorian she looked right then. The Mandalorian feminine ideal, the armored strength encapsulating a soft sweetness; a _female_. This was a woman who would bear strong, capable children and then defend them with ruthless and incredible brutality if need be, a woman a man might depend on to guard his home while he battled in far off worlds torn apart by war. The picture Kastiel presented right then was everything – it was family and clan, warrior and hunter, traditional and young.

Hell, no wonder the clans' men were jostling over each other outside the door, he thought, smiling to himself. He would, too, if he were even a decade younger than he was, rather than someone he knew she looked at as an oldster.

Then he glanced down at the helmet she was handling, and groaned slightly. Kastiel looked up slowly as she heard him then, her dark eyes darting immediately towards him from across the room. She moved, her hips swaying gently as she stepped into the center of the space, the helmet spinning against her fingers. Mako came closer, too, jumping from where she'd been leaning against a wall to settle next to Kastiel as they both calmly regarded the Huntermaster's assistant.

Lek looked down at the helmet, reaching out a hand for it. "Hedarr's. Can I?"

Kastiel nodded, holding the helmet out towards him, the dark triangular eye-screen encased by hard armor, painted brown. Lek imagined it looked rather appealing next to Kas' own green and brown chestplate. She frowned, looking uncertain for just a moment as Lek held the helmet, rubbing his fingers across the face of it. "He asked me to take it."

Lek grunted, his voice husky, rough as he remembered. "He would've wanted someone he taught to have it."

"Yea. He told me about the _aay'han_, asked me to remember him and his words. He said Mandalorians lived well, fought for their clans, for their families. He spoke of honor." She looked at him, her brows tight as she considered, recalled. "I liked him."

Lek smiled at her. "That explains why he'd ask you to take this. He thought of you as one of his own, someone he trained. Means a lot when a Mando asks someone to take their armor, to keep it. You know that, right?" Kas sighed, nodding. She felt like a little kid suddenly, like she was pulled up short and lectured with stern vigilance. It was years since she'd felt so … raw, so inexperienced. Gawkish, even.

She glanced at Mako, wished Gault was here, too. But the Devaronian was waiting for them at the cantina for some "much-needed drunken celebrations", though. Probably hiding from Mandalorian curiosity, too.

Lek handed the armored headpiece back to her, smiling. "He was my friend. Hope you wear this as well as he did."

She breathed, lifted her chin up. He watched her press her lips tight, looking firm and certain as she stared past him at the door. "I'll wear it today. So they _all_ remember him."

Lek chuckled then. "They're going to remember _you_. Don't doubt it."

* * *

She saw him as soon as she stepped into the massive doorway overlooking the same arena where she'd battled her melee opponents. She saw him and stopped, so suddenly that Lek nearly crashed into her backside. Instead, he grumbled some sort of query.

But Mako huffed a tiny laugh. Kastiel turned a nasty glare in her direction, swearing softly, "If you say a single word, I'll boot you in the ass, Mako." Lek looked at both of them like they'd turned mad all of a sudden. Crysta patted him on the back, smiling broadly, before nodding towards Kas and waving her ahead.

"Go on, girl. Let 'em salute you. I've been aching to say 'I told ya so!' since that damn melee and I'm aiming to get to it!"

Kastiel turned forward once again, looking straight ahead towards the Huntmaster, willfully ignoring the warriors lining her path to reach him. She stepped forward, leaving Mako standing there next to Crysta and Lek. The gathering of Mandalorians, all of their fighters and warriors crowded into the space overlooking the arena, erupted into hushed calls and exclamations. They all strained to see her, look at her.

Kas suddenly realized the value in the Mando tendency to cover their faces behind visored helmets. So many emotions could be hidden behind a faceplate.

Crysta watched as Kas stepped forward, walking firmly forward with her chin tilted upwards in a universal gesture of pride and assuredness. She elbowed Mako in the side, "She still looks at 'im, huh?"

"No one else, and, trust me, I've watched for it."

Lek was slowly beginning to understand. He scanned the warriors, trying to discern which one had caught the hunter's eye. They were all fit and lean fighters, some of the best, he knew, each one picked carefully by their _al'verde_to represent their finest Mandalorian squads. And their armor gleamed in the shining lights from the arena floor, too. He could tell they'd prepared carefully, each one determined to represent their _aliit_ proudly. Still, only one of them lacked headgear, standing there with his face tilted up, staring straight ahead as he bared his throat unabashedly, his eyes glittering as the Champion passed by him.

Lek almost groaned. He leaned closer to Chrysta, growling low, "Cadera? She wants him? Chrysta! What the hell!"

Mako was confused when Crysta looked back at Lek with a hard, angry gaze. Their handler actually put her hands onto her hips, adamant and serious as she confronted the Huntermaster's assistant. "There's no reason to get all bent out of shape, you damn coot!"

Lek shook his head. "Mandalore won't like it."

Crysta leaned closer, trying to keep her voice down as she argued with him. She was close to pulling that off, although Mako noticed a couple of nearby fighters glancing back at them. "He's a fine warrior, Lek. Corridan Ordo calls him a friend. And he's representing Fett's squad today."

"Crysta … his clan and Mandalore aren't exactly on the best of terms."

"So his daddy was an idiot. The fool's probably dead. Don't see why so many people hold it against him, though."

"Jicoln Cadera isn't dead. I fought with him, knew him. He's probably ruling some small kingdom there on Taris!"

Crysta raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly's that got to do with _Torian_ Cadera? I don't see him lauding his daddy none. Rather the opposite. Swears by his mama, doesn't he? He's a damn fine piece of Mando, Lek!"

Mako finally interjected. "I just want both of you to know I'm not _saying_ anything, cause otherwise I'm going to get a boot up my ass. She meant that, you know! Doesn't mean I'm not paying real close attention to the entire conversation, though."

Crysta grinned at the cyborg for a small moment, right before she poked a hard finger against Lek's armored chest, adamantly serious. "Now, you listen to me, you ass. There's dozens of warriors sniffing after that girl right now, and you know it. Ain't half as important as the fact she's only looked back at one of 'em!" She looked down at the assembly, watched as Kastiel turned to face the Mandalorians, the Huntmaster looming behind her with his large, furry arms held upright as he presented her to them. "Might want to start thinking what it'll sound like, calling _her_ Cadera."

Lek sighed as he watched the crowds cheer, cries of "_Oya_!" winging through the air, hard Mandalorian fists pumping high above helmeted heads. Torian Cadera was watching her, had been watching her the entire time. And never mind how much he'd avoided making real eye contact with her, either.

He suddenly remembered a hunt he'd made once, along with Jicoln Cadera and a troop of Mandalorian hunters. They'd been seeking a drexl on the moon of Dxun, near Onderon. It was a rather large specimen, in fact. They'd managed to take down a number of bomas and maalraas, even a zakkeg. But Cadera had been intent on the drexl after they caught sight of its claw marks in one of the jungle trees.

Lek thought of the hunt, the look in Jicoln's golden-brown eyes, the way they flared as he called out to them, chuckling, "Its teeth will be as long as my arm, I wager. I want one!" He'd pressed them forward, not stopping, determined, focused on his target. The beast was huge, its wings carving out like a blade above them as they fought it. Jicoln hadn't stopped, not even for a breath. He had leapt up onto its back, slashing madly against its head with a hard blade. The thing screamed, blood spraying, as it died. And Jicoln had calmly carved one of its teeth from its mouth, then.

_His son has his eyes_, Lek thought suddenly.

"It won't be easy for him, Crysta, that's all I'm saying. There are some who'll say he's trying to win his honor through her. That he's only using her for his own gain."

Crysta snorted, watching as Kastiel walked away from the Huntmaster amid the cheers and applause. "It's not what anyone but my girl thinks that he needs to be worrying after. She's the only one he needs to convince, is all."

* * *

They watched each other.

She watched the way his head turned and lifted, twisting the cords of his neck above his chestplate, the way his feet set firm against the ground, the way his lean hips rotated against the sturdy toughness of his belt.

He watched the way she stepped, the way her helmeted face tilted up as if defiant, the way her armor fit against her round breasts before tapering down against a tender and soft belly, the way her hands drifted down against her thighs as she walked.

She was glad she could see his face.

He wished he could see hers.

And both of them breathed in the first hints of the hunt, eyeing the prize.

* * *

**Drexl were massive winged lizards native to the moon of Dxun, one of four moons that orbited the planet of Onderon in the Inner Rim. They were covered in purple scales, with long necks, small snouts, and very very sharp teeth. The teeth of a fully grown drexl was easily the length of a human man's arm. Their wingspan could reach 20 meters across. **

**Thanks to the short distance that seperated Dxun from Onderon during its orbit, many drexl actually migrated to Onderon over the eons. On Onderon, the creatures were often tamed and used as riding animals by the primitive humans that lived there.**

**Dxun itself was a jungle world that hosted a number of species besides the drexl:**

**(1) Bomas were large predatory animals that looked like chunky lizards. They attacked the Jedi Exile when her party visited the moon.**

**(2) Maalraas were scaly cat-like creatures that hunted in packs.**

**(3) Zakkeg were rare amored quadrupeds, solitary creatures, and very territorial. Meetra Surik fought and killed a zakkeg to gain the respect of the Mandalorians when she visited Dxun.**

**Mandalorians made traditional hunts to the moon of Dxun. The Great Hunt, in fact, originated there. Originally, the Hunt was composed entirely of Mandalorians, who battled the indigenous lifeforms on Dxun in order to win the title of Champion.**


	51. Chapter 50 -- Trust Me

**I don't know about you but I'm particularly eager to get a move onto Taris. One of the few class stories that really make you glad to reach that planet, huh? Still, I needed to get some issues cleared up so I'm using this chapter to get at them. Bear with me as I get through to the good stuff.**

* * *

"This is Mandalorian space. Vacate this sector before we use you for target practice. You have two minutes."

Gault cocked his hip to one side, grinning like a fiend at the warrior, who's image was currently displayed on the holoterminal. "That would definitely make for an amazing story, wouldn't it? Everyone could laugh their asses off, over the Mandalorians, who gained a Champion only to blow her to smithareens in the dead of space! People would line up to hear it, friend, trust me."

He imagined the warrior would be glaring at him, if he could actually see his face behind that helmet. As it was, the fellow's image suddenly seemed to loom. Gault supposed the man was leaning closer to his own terminal. "I am not laughing, Devaronian."

"Gault, actually. Gault Rennow is my name. I'm the most humble member of the _Bad Boy's_ crew, my good man. Trust me." Gault executed a truly impressive courtly bow in front of the terminal. Then he jumped, yipping a surprised cry as Kastiel slapped a palm straight across one cheek of his backside.

"Humble? Mando, when this Devaronian asks you to trust such praise of himself – don't." Kastiel stepped alongside Gault in front of the terminal, bumping a slim hip solidly against Gault's enough that he stumbled. He sighed even as he sidled out of Kastiel's way.

"You've wasted an entire minute. Get out of Mandalorian space." The Mandalorian sounded more bemused than angry by now. Kastiel shrugged, smiling slightly as she looked at him.

"I'm Kastiel Blade. I won the Great Hunt. Mandalore asked me to meet with him, here." She glanced behind her, towards Mako, inclining her head slightly. The little female trotted away, heading towards the bridge. Towards the controls of the _Bad Boy's_ weapons system, specifically. "You'd better let me know if you plan on opening fire, yea. You may not be able to trust Gault's humility. But my ability to shoot back is something you can count on."

The warrior slowly smiled, using the anonymity his helmeted visage ensured to peruse the bounty hunter's frame, as she leaned her weight onto one leg and canted her head in his direction. Kastiel had set aside Hedarr's helmet, so that she faced the terminal with her face proudly bare. He could see the scars that etched the side of her face before looping down against her neck, but it hardly detracted from her appeal. More like, added to it.

Kastiel's scars spoke of strength, the ability to face an enemy, a powerful one, and survive, overcome the attack, and be made stronger for it. The glint of her implants worked, even, to highlight the dark depths of her eyes, so that her gaze seemed to compel, to pull at him. The warrior suddenly understood Artus' words as he'd described her. "_She's makes you burn, Rykos. Makes you want to prove something – that you're worthy. Men will follow her, warriors will fight for her. She's like a fire you can't turn back from, even if you wanted to._"

Standing there, watching her now, as she crossed her arms across her breastplate, the one that didn't work to hide the real shape of her breasts, either, Rykos Lok shifted his stance, so that his hardening member wasn't pressed so firmly against the armor shielding his groin. He managed only barely to bite back a groaning sound. And damn if that Devaronian didn't shoot him a grin from where he could still be discerned standing there behind the Champion. "Apologies, Champion. I'll clear you for landing."

Kastiel twisted a grin in Gault's direction as the man's image faded from the terminal. "Humble, my ass, Gault."

Gault shrugged. "I'm pretty good at pretending. Not that I've ever managed to fool you, either. You're a talented bit of baggage, Kas."

She shrugged. Gault smiled lightly as he looked at her, knew her casualness at the compliment came from a very real disregard more for herself than anything of him. He'd laughed when Mako shared her bewilderment at Kastiel's apparent disinterestedness in the entire male half of her species. Gault was male enough himself, old enough, too, that he knew Kas simply didn't recognize the natural allurement she exuded, the innate seductiveness of her very spirit.

He was Kastiel's friend enough, too, that he wished he could put his fist through the face of whatever male or males had done damage enough to her confidence that she no longer looked back when they watched her. Not that she doubted her abilities, no. But she didn't even realize how damn desirable she was, either. _Someone did a real number on her_, he thought.

Gault glanced towards the bridge, where he knew Mako was carefully guiding the Bad Boy on its path into the Spirit's docking bay. Then he leaned back against the holoterminal that Kastiel was still working with, prodding at it to examine the various messages that had come in during the past weeks. He grunted at her, "You stimmed up this morning. The headache must've been rough."

Kastiel didn't look up from the message she was reading through. Gaibriel mentioned something about a crime lord of some renown that was sending him on some harebrained scheme of an adventure to the edges of the Outer Rim. Dammit, why couldn't she have even one brother whose life was just boring, or simple maybe? What's wrong, really, with being a farmer or a nerf herder? "Just a hangover, Gault. What was even in those last shots we downed? The green ones, I mean."

"Would it help if I said there are a damn few Devaronians that could've consumed that liquor? Most humans would've been laid out on the floor, twitching."

"Forget I asked."

"Good idea." He pretended to yawn, feigning boredom. Kastiel frowned towards him. He tapped his broken horn with one finger, rubbed against its cracked edge.

"What is it, Gault?"

"Just thinking."

"You don't think. You plot. Spill it, Gault."

Gault hid his smirk from her by running the spiked edges of his overlong tongue against the line of his sharp teeth. "Well. I was just wondering if that man you're looking for – you know, the one we talked about back at the Thul Palace on Alderaan? – I was wondering if that man is the Mando you were talking about last night."

Kastiel jolted upright, almost tripping herself as she spun around to glare at him. "What do you mean, 'talked about last night'? What the hell did I talk about last night? Was I _that_ drunk?"

Gault gazed at Kastiel, his eyes wide with pretended shock and surprise. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Calm down, lovebird! Hey, I thought your singing was particularly endearing, believe me."

"I _sang_? What the flying fuck did I sing?" Kastiel almost wailed. Gault might have continued the ribbing, because it was truly rare he managed to bait her so spectacularly. But she looked genuinely frantic. He did laugh, though. Hey, no one ever called him either sweet or nice.

"You should see the look on your face! You're really cute when you're nervous, you know. Your lips get real puffy-looking. Be careful, someone might try to steal a kiss when you look like that." She reared a fist back, so that Gault jumped backwards, laughing with his hands held upright in mock surrender. "Down, girl! No beating on the Devaronian!"

"Gault, you ass! I swear, I'm going to rip off your good horn and shove it up your pipe!"

"Well, how the hell am I going to tell you what you had to say when you were so splendidly drunk last night, if there's a horn crammed up my ass?"

"Gault!"

He grinned, sticking his tongue out to make a rasping sound towards her. "All right, all right!" Gault cocked his head, feeling the still gentle swaying of the ship as it was being maneuvered. He was suddenly serious, leaning his back against the holoterminal and closing his eyes as he thought over the night before. Mako hadn't managed even one of the little green shots. By the time that liquor had made an appearance at their table, the cyborg was wilting in her seat, her head lolling as she drifted into a drunken sleep.

Gault had enjoyed Kastiel's maudlin ramblings in the hour they spent huddled over their green drinks, with Mako slumped against Kas' back. He'd looked at the two females, both of them so young, sitting there – even if one of them was snoring right then – and imagined what it would've been like, to have daughters of his own. A daughter was prized by a Devaronian male, much like human men thought of their sons, maybe. But Gault had long since set aside notions of family and children.

Funny, he'd thought, looking at them there in that cantina, that that's the feeling he'd have in regards the hunter who'd caught him quite literally shirtless and minus a horn. Oh, and her little sidekick, too. He supposed if he couldn't have Hylo, he'd at least have something like a family of his own. Something to care about, anyway.

He looked at Kastiel now, standing there tapping her boot against the floor, glaring at him, with those dark eyes spitting angry flames, even. _She really did look beautiful_, he thought. But he didn't smile at her right then. He was actually ... solemn. "Kas, you told me how you met him. How you got those scars. How your mother died and a Mandalorian boy taught you how to get back up and keep going," he said, his tone heavy, somber.

He'd known even then she didn't talk of such things, not to anyone. But she'd been drunk. Seeing the man he was absolutely certain she loved earlier that day sent her spinning into an insipid haze. It'd made her particularly cute. Not that she used the word "love" as she was talking about him, either. Gault was pretty sure it was unusual for humans to love like that, from their earliest childhood days. But he didn't doubt the hunter felt that way, either. That was cute, too.

Kastiel blinked at him, now, her mind spinning. She was unsure what to say. So she just looked away, staring at nothing. Gault leaned closer to her, his Devaronian features pulled taut and pointed, pulling Kastiel's gaze back to him. It was quite the most serious she'd ever seen him look. And he spoke quietly, "I once battled the Mandalorians, you know. I pulled the triggers on those guns and watched the explosions that bloomed along the hulls of their cruisers, knew there were countless warriors who died, there. I'm not really sorry for it, mind you. War is an ugly business but it's profitable. And I was fighting for someone else that day, someone I cared about more than I've ever cared about anyone."

"But last night was the first night I really thought Mandalorians are worth fighting _for_, too. A people who'd yank up a broken little girl and put her back together again? Kastiel, those are people I could fight alongside, fight to defend." He put one red hand onto Kastiel's shoulder, squeezed her softly. "That male's someone you want. To have him, you're going to have to forget about everyone, anyone who's ever told you to hide from men. Whatever they said to you, Kas, it's complete nerf shit. I'm not joking, either. You've got something … a spark, a light. Something that's just … men chase you, they look at you. And they damn well like what they see!"

"Gault … I'm not …."

He clucked his tongue, shushing her. Then he waved one finger up towards his broken horn. "I lost the horn years ago, Kas. Was putting on a show for some buxom female. Oh, she had the sweetest pair of tits, believe me! A twi'lek, one of those green-skinned women. Delicious bit of fluff. Was so much fun, and not only the sex, either. It was as much the game that came in getting her into bed, I mean. I've never regretted losing the horn, cause I had that much of a blast." He leaned forward. "Kastiel, have fun. Be yourself, the way you are with me and Mako. And he'll respond. Trust me. Really, this time. Just … trust me."

There was a sudden bump under their feet, as the Bad Boy settled into place there in the Spirit's docking bay. Mako bounded down into the lounge, her face lit up with excitement. But she stopped as she caught sight of them there, with Gault leaning against Kastiel, his hand clasping her shoulder, their stance and demeanor earnest and intense. She frowned. "What did you do, Gault?"

He rolled his eyes, sighing. "Why would it be _me_ who did something? How do you know it wasn't Kas? Two? Hey! What about that damn monkey-lizard?"

"Because it's you we're talking about, here." Mako ignored Gault's huffy sigh. Kastiel pointed towards the pack Mako was carrying.

"Did you find them?"

Mako frowned at her, seeing the distraction for what it was. "Right where you told me to look, yea. We should've gotten you some more pillows while we were on Dromund Kaas, by the way. What did you do, give every pillow on the ship to me and Gault?"

"No way! Gave them all to _you_, Mako."

Gault gasped with dramatic flair. "I knew it! I knew you liked that little metal-faced tyrant more than you like me! I'm not sure I'll ever get over it, either. I'm going to cry."

"Oh, really? That's an entertaining thought. Go ahead, I want to watch."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're mean, Kas. I've said it before. But you prove it anew every day."

"So long as we understand each other."

Mako watched as they exchanged a meaningful look, even as they all moved towards the airlock. "Whatever you did, Gault, it better not have been anything to get us in trouble with the Mandalorians. Please remember we're going to be on a ship full of them. Loads of them. And all of them will be armed."

"Oh, please." Gault waved one red hand dismissively. "Mandalorians really aren't so tough, Mako. I've killed plenty of them. And _they_ were all armed, too."

Kastiel chuckled as she palmed the airlock door's controls. "You think we can avoid mentioning how many Mandoes you've killed when we meet the Mandalore, Gault?"

"Of course, oh fearless leader! You may depend upon me!" Gault's voice rang out even as the doors slid open to reveal the group of Mandalorian warriors perched at the end of the ship's ramp, looking up at them. Kas could see several helmeted heads cant sideways, knew they'd heard the Devaronian's sing-song voice as the doors were opening.

Language was almost a form of art, an expression, one that Kastiel thrilled over, exulted in. So much of a language went beyond the sounds produced by various species' vocal apparatus, whether cords in their throats or not. She'd learned how much could be communicated without sound during the long months when sounds were lost to her. A flashing look of the eye, a twist of the lip, a wave of the hand, or just a simple lean of the hip – all of it provided a message, evoked an understanding. Even obscured behind their tough, armored exteriors, Mandalorians were communicating, in the way they moved, held their heads, or even just bent their leg.

Kastiel was fascinated by their language, wanted to immerse herself in it, wallow there until she understood it. But outsiders were kept outside of such things. And she was still an outsider.

"Champion! Mandalore's waiting." He was the same warrior who'd addressed them via holo. Kastiel stepped closer, looking up and into his face, hidden behind the faceplate of his helmet. She smirked happily at him.

"What the hell do they feed you, to make sure you grow so damn big, huh?"

She sensed his amusement, noted the way he eased his shoulders back, which subtly pressed his chest forward so that it looked even broader. Focused so much right then on learning the subtle meanings of Mandalorian communication, she didn't miss the warrior's invitation. She sliced a look towards Gault, saw him wink at her.

"Not many vegetables, I'll assure you. And a lot of spices. Mandoes love spicy food. Maybe you can try some while you're here."

Mako groaned. "No! Don't feed her! You'll never get rid of her if you feed her something she likes to eat."

The Mandalorian leaned his hip to one side. Kas could tell he was smiling, even if she couldn't see it. "You assume we don't want to keep her. Now, that wouldn't be an accurate assumption at all, believe me." He looked back at Kastiel, inclining his head respectfully. "I'm Rykos Lok. I'll escort you to Mandalore."

They followed him as he moved through the ship's corridors. The dreadnaught was teeming with Mandalorians, the warriors and fighters pressing into the hallways as they passed. Kastiel grunted softly, "Makes me feel like I suddenly grew another head in some awkward location."

Rykos chuckled. "I think they're only admiring the head you already possess, actually."

"If you say so." Kastiel stopped in the doorway of the ship's main hall. The space was wide, looming. An immense table was centered in the room and various trophies – bones, skulls, and weapons - lined the walls, but Mandalore himself was coming to his feet from behind a large desk set back against the far wall. Kastiel focused on him as she stepped forward, moving quickly across the room.

Rykos cleared his throat as they drew close to him. "Mandalore, your Champion presents herself."

_She's smaller than I'd imagined_, he thought, looking down at her. Not that he was really surprised. Artus Lok was a large man, standing tall at almost seven feet, with dark skin. His hair was dark, too, when he actually allowed it to grow. Which wasn't often. At the moment, his head was bare, the hair shorn clean off. His broad shoulders and bulging chest were the result of hours spent in battles and hunts alike. There were few men who could top him in size, and even fewer women.

But this woman had a presence few warriors he'd ever met could claim. He swelled with pride as he looked at her, that he'd managed to find such an exceptional fighter. "You're called Kastiel Blade. I like that a little war wasn't enough to keep you from meeting me. Welcome aboard the _Spirit of Vengeance_, all of you. These are your people, Champion? Mako we're familiar with, Braden's girl, from Nar Shaddaa. I've heard she's the brains on your team. But who's the Devaronian?"

Kastiel mentally crossed her fingers, preparing herself. It was important, vital even, that Gault's place be secured. "Gault Rennow. A pain in the ass Devaronian, to be honest. Found him on Tattooine. He helped me capture Tyresius Lokei."

Mandalore glanced towards Gault, one brow raised up. "You turned on one of your own?"

"Oh, believe me. Tyresius had it coming. He was an ass. I'm glad he's dead and gone. And I wasn't the only one who hated him! Hell, no! We sold his body at auction. Proved profitable in the end." Gault actually rubbed his hands together, smiling evilly as he stood there. Mandalore shook his head, amused.

"You gather fascinating people around you, little Champion."

"Fascinating? I suppose we can be called that, at least. Certainly not too keen on being plain 'ole _ordinary_," Kastiel grinned. He smiled down at her, not missing that she included herself in the remark. Leadership came in many forms; Kastiel's was innate and obvious. But it was based on a comfortable familiarity, a sense of belonging that was so implicit even those who followed her would say she was a friend before they called her leader. They'd still defer to her, no matter what they called it.

"You've done much for me that I'm thankful for, Champion. You stopped the auction on Hutta, avenged my friend, Hedarr Soongh, and killed that arrogant piece of shit, Tarro Blood. Says a lot that you never once lowered yourself to his level, in order to win. A damn lot." Artus eased himself forward, resting his thighs against the edge of his massive desk. "I'm almost hesitant to ask you to do something more for me. Almost."

"Why stop the fun?" Kastiel's smile never wavered as she looked back at him. He wondered what it would be like, to be young like that again, to see life as an endless adventure. Not that he was sorry for the way he'd come. But he lived with enough regrets, enough loss. He'd seen friends, good friends, die. _Made_ them die, too, sometimes.

"The Hunt is no mere sport. It's meant to find the best the galaxy has to offer, the strongest and most determined. Usually to handle a task vital to the _Mando'ad_. There's one more thing you have to do, before I am certain you're the one to take on this task." Artus saw his fighters, those of his own _aliit_, shifting restlessly back near the doors.

Rykos had raised his head up, paying particular attention as Mandalore spoke. Now he was almost leaning forward, trying to discern the Champion's response by judging her stance. Besides. He was certainly enjoying the view of her backside.

"What do you need, Mandalore?"

"There's a cavern deep in the marshes of Dromund Kaas. An unnatural place, full of … they're abominations, twisted and strange creatures. Dangerous, too. There's something down there, something big. It's managed to kill several of our warriors." Artus waved one of his large hands, smoothly. "I want _you_ to kill it. Do it, bring me a trophy from the beast."

"I'll need the coordinates to this cavern. Dromund Kaas is rife with abominations, anyway, but it sounds like you're intent on a specific one. Need to make sure it's the correct target."

He nodded towards Rykos, who handed a datapad to Mako. "Our clans are sending their most promising fighters to the cavern to take on the monster. They've set up a camp right outside. Seek them out, firstly."

Kastiel raised her chin up, her dark eyes burning. "It'll happen, Mandalore." He watched her as she spun around, waving at her companions before moving out through the doors. He smiled softly, looking around the room, then. Rykos shook his head, watching him.

"Looking for the spot you're going to put your new trophy?"

"Indeed. Is she not all I told you?" Artus grinned at him.

"More, actually. She'll make Clan Lok proud. I'm still not sure why you'd keep us from courting her directly, though."

The Mandalore grunted. "She's going to set things right, heal old wounds, bind us together once again. I once told a good friend it was our children who'd do it, who'd make sure the Clans were healed. Never knew I was a fortune teller of such skill."

"You're speaking in riddles, Mandalore."

He laughed, then. "Almost wish I could be there to watch them."


	52. Chapter 51 -- Hunting in the Dark

**This is way, way longer than I anticipated. But didn't make sense to break it up into different chapters, either. So, I'm just sorry it's so long. Regardless, enjoy!**

* * *

He heard Jogo before he saw him. The Mando actually stomped towards the fire that Torian was crouched next to, carefully preparing his staff for the next day's hunt. Jogo grunted at him, "The _alor'ad_ can't keep us from the cave another day! Makes no sense, to sit out here while that beast still lives in there."

Torian wiped the sweat away from his forehead as he looked up through the gloom of the sky at the inevitable rain clouds moving ahead. The murky shadows of Dromund Kaas still confused him, the endless gloom leaving him to feel there was something always lurking in the dark. Something mean and cruel. And not truly natural, either.

It was definitely a Sith world, twisted and pulled by their dark magics.

"Fett means to move our hunt to Taris, Jogo. He's keeping us from losing too many warriors in the meantime." Torian spoke evenly, slowly, in that characteristic manner that never failed to tic at Jogo's nerves. Even when he was provoked, Torian was calm and focused, showing a centered patience that gave him a singular advantage on the fighting field.

The last thing anyone would ever say of Jogo was that he was patient. He was called "hothead", rather. _Ori'buyce, kih'kovid_, they whispered behind his back. He would never be the warrior that Torian was so easily. He'd understood that from the first, when Torian first joined their troop. And it burned him to understand it again and again, too.

He sneered at Torian, now. "Dev died in there and you practically don't care."

The other warriors gathered around the fire fell silent. It wasn't a few that shot Jogo hard looks, angry glances at the low and mean taunt. Jogo swallowed, feeling the flush washing across his pale skin as shame filled him. Torian only stared at him, though. "Dev didn't die in there, Jogo. He died in my arms after I carried him out."

Jogo's skin went ruddy once again. But this time he was angry. He came to his feet, bristling, his fists clenched. "Are you calling me _hu'tuun_? That I didn't do something to save him?"

Torian rose up onto his feet, too, shaking his head. "None of us could've saved him, Jogo. He died well, fighting to save another Mando. Couldn't ask for a better death. I was proud to call him friend, is all."

"So you don't call _me_ friend, huh?"

Torian looked at him, his eyes level and resolute. "I call you brother, call you _vod_. That should be enough."

Jogo stepped closer, until he was almost pressing against Torian's hard frame, standing there firmly. They looked like nothing as much as two Bantha bulls preparing to butt heads. Jogo raised one fist, as if preparing to let loose with a real blow, when a call suddenly rang through the camp. "_Ke'sush_! _Baruk_!"

Jogo spun around, but Torian still saw her first. He knew, even as he watched, that he'd never forget that moment, never forget the way she looked as she stepped out of the gloaming mist. She looked like a mystical creature from myth, something that would disappear as smoothly and easily as it appeared if a man didn't snatch it up and hold onto it first. He felt his breath catch, his heart beat faster, as she froze there on the edge of the Mandalorian encampment, scanning it with deep, almost sable eyes, dark as the shade she emerged from.

Her Devaronian companion pressed closer, leaning over to whisper something in her ear. She nodded back at the horned man, said something that made him chuckle. Jogo huffed angrily as he began striding towards her, his attention diverted.

"_Megin_ _haran_," Jogo almost spit at her, confrontational, hard. She stared back at him, frowning. But her gaze moved quickly to Torian. He saw her eyes grow wide and darken even further when she saw him. Her lips parted, sweetly pouting. But she didn't say anything, just looked at him. The Devaronian suddenly sidled close enough to her they were almost touching, a small whisper of movement, subtle and careful. _Protective, or comforting, maybe_, he thought, envious at the intimate gesture, at the way she relaxed against the fellow's calming motion.

"You're either brave. Or a fool. Who else would simply hike their way into a camp full of warriors?" Jogo thrust his chest out in an obviously intimidating gesture that did nothing to intimidate her. She looked back at him, rather, her dark brown eyes flashing with amusement.

"Oh, I'm brave. But I've been known to be foolish a time or two, as well. Still don't know what was in those green drinks Gault gave me at the cantina last week." She shook her head impishly, thumbing the Devaronian standing alongside her. Jogo glared, taking a small step forward as he raised a single finger to point towards the direction she'd come from.

Torian just watched her. He slid his gaze down her frame, took in the curves of her shoulders under the smooth edges of her chestplate, the way the armor framed her breasts into flawless globes. She stood there assuredly, her feet spread slightly. Her legs were wrapped in more armor, all of it painted in swaths of brown and dark green, but he could still tell that her legs were long and shapely. They'd wrap snugly around his own lean hips, hug him close, warm him, encase him in feminine perfection. He hardened fast, and stayed that way, so that he eased his own legs apart just to relieve the pressure.

But her face drew him, drew at him hard, and he kept looking at her. Crysta had spoken of her deafness, and he could see the implants that curved under her beautiful dark eyes. The metal gleamed against her pale skin, curving back towards her ears. He imagined she could hear the dripping of raindrops falling from the trees' leaves in the nearby marshes, even. The scars were rough, deep, running along the side of her face, just along the precious sweet edge of her jaw, before entwining against her soft throat.

He remembered a little girl, held high up in the air in a man's meaty grip, her small legs pumping, trying to kick him even as she gurgled in pain and fear, her dark, black braids swinging as the man shook her small body, hard, his rough glove cutting into her skin. Torian lowered his eyes, shaking his head, thinking hard, fast.

_It can't be her. She died. We tried to find her and they told us she died. _But he wanted it, wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything. He felt his breath catch as he pondered just the chance, his mind spinning.

_"When you picture the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, what does she look like? She's human, right? I'd imagine she is. Most humans fantasize about human females."_

_"Yes. She was human. Had dark hair, black like a midnight sky with no moonlight. And big brown eyes. Like candy that melts over your fingers."_

Big brown eyes, watching him, watching constantly as he soothed her pain, her fear and her terror.

He wanted it, wanted _her_ so much that his chest hurt suddenly.

"If you don't leave, you'll end up with my knife in your guts, girl. You won't like it, believe me." Jogo was pointing at her, his finger held straight out, threatening.

"Mando, if you could actually get your knife close enough to my guts to make a damn nick, I'd be impressed, rather." She actually rolled her eyes at him! Jogo cursed at her again, but she only frowned, suddenly thoughtful. "What's that mean? _Di'kut_?"

Jogo sneered. "You're asking me to teach you _Mando'a_?"

"Well, so long as you're offering …" She waved invitingly at him.

Gault chuckled when the Mandalorian began sputtering in frustrated anger, seeming more bewildered than anything else as Kastiel eased herself into a casual stance, smiling hazily. Torian only shook his head, warningly. "She's not one to take on, Jogo. More warrior than you."

Jogo shot Torian a steady glare. "You're one to judge. _Aru'tal_."

"Not me making judgments. Huntmaster declared her Champion."

Jogo's head snapped back around. "Truly? You? You're the hunter from Hutta? You killed Tarro Blood?"

Kastiel shrugged her shoulders lightly. "I'm not from Hutta. Just went there to get that damn worm to give me sponsorship. And you wouldn't believe what I had to go through, either. He tossed me into a pit full of mutant chemilizards and rabid akk dogs."

"But she did kill Tarro Blood, yea." Gault almost sang the words, his voice lilting.

"That's not as memorable as the akk dogs on Hutta, Gault. The dogs were braver."

Jogo shook his head, angered once again when murmured laughter swept through the gathering. "There aren't any akk dogs, here. Don't think that just because you have a fancy title we're going to like you tramping through our hunting grounds. Winning the Great Hunt doesn't make you one of us. Worthy Mandalorians have died out here. So finish up what you came here for, and leave."

She looked at Jogo gravely then. She glanced past him to the yawning darkness of the cave looming there. Torian could see her biting her bottom lip softly as she thought, wondered madly how it tasted. "You lost someone here? A friend, someone you knew?"

Torian inclined his chin, his golden brown eyes growing murky suddenly. "_Burc'ya_. Good friend, yes. Close. There's something in there, something big. It grabbed him up and bit him. We dragged him out here, but there was too much damage. Never saw the beast, though. Too dark. But you can feel it, when you're in there. Feel its heart beating against the walls."

Kastiel stared at Torian, quiet, solemn. "So you had to hold onto someone else, here, as they were bleeding?"

Jogo was confused. "Dev was the one. No one else."

She shook her head soberly. "No. He helped someone else. It was years ago, actually." Kastiel turned to her companion, gesturing towards the nearby cave. She didn't see the way her words hit Torian. But Gault did. "It's barely midday. We have enough time to get in there and kill the thing."

"You'll not come out alive, champion." Jogo almost snarled the title towards her.

"If it chomps on me, I somewhat doubt I'll come out at all, actually. We'll see, one way or another. Because Mandalore told me to kill whatever's in there, to bring him a trophy. And that's exactly what I plan on doing." She pressed her way past them, her boots squelching loudly in the wet mud of the camp's ground. Her Devaronian friend followed her, mumbling something about "crazy hunters".

Jogo spun to watch her go, frowning. She moved through the camp towards the cave, her gait certain, true. He watched her backside, her swaying hips, heard the men whispering. "The Mandalore's sent her on a _verd'goten_, Torian. She'll have a _gai bal manda_ – from the Mandalore! If she lives."

Torian stood there, frozen. His golden brown eyes gleamed as he watched her go, looking almost like bright shiny coins from some far off world where currency still came in such lumps. He kept reminding himself to breathe. Her words, the look in her eyes – it was seared on his brain, so that all he could think about was her, having her. That, and the threat she was marching to face.

He swallowed hard, aching with the need to follow her, protect her, this woman who'd grown from the girl he'd dreamed of since he was five years old. But he stayed fast, sighing, crouching down next to the fire once again. He waited, watching the cave's opening. She'd survived so much already, he remembered. "She'll live, Jogo."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I already lost her once. There's no god cruel enough to take her again."

* * *

"He doesn't talk much." Gault stepped over the dead … thing that Kastiel had shot full of holes. It was good only for turning into the nasty green goo that chemists were able to turn into healing materials somehow. He looked down at the beast critically. "Kas, what the hell are these things, anyway?"

Kastiel glanced at the dead creature. "Not sure. Looks almost like a horranth. Or a gannifari, maybe. Whatever it was, the dark force magics in the area twisted it beyond anything recognizable." He grumbled to himself, twisting his head to and fro as he tried making sense of the animal's shape. She turned to spray some more chemicals against the round mushroom-things in the cave, watching as they became luminous enough to light their passage through the cave with a steady glow. "And maybe he saves his words for things that really need saying."

Gault chuckled. "Not sure Mandalorians ever need to say much beyond, 'You're going to die now.' At least that seems to be the depth of their conversational skills. Look at that one guy. Jogo? What an arrogant little turd."

She frowned. "He called Torian something, a word I'm not familiar with. Seemed real nasty about it."

Gault stopped, thoughtful. "You could shoot Jogo in the ass. Not only is it one of your favorite targets, it would have the added benefit of making me laugh my own ass off."

"We could record it, watch it via holo whenever we need a show."

"Nice plan!" He drawled. "You and me make the most devious of teams, Kas." She smiled as she edged forward, lighting her way with the chemical spray Tobie had provided them for this little adventure. Moving around Dromund Kaas, especially anything involving a cave, demanded innovative techniques at times, she'd told him as they'd walked towards the clinic.

Gault had liked Tobies Mor, liked needling at his proper Imperial sensibilities at least. The man had been angrily protective of Kastiel, anyway. He'd leered at Tobie, "You should see what I can do with my tongue. Kas _loves_ it." Kastiel had threatened to cut out his tongue if he came close to her with it, then. Tobie had watched their byplay with a serious expression, properly father-like in his demeanor, until Kas threw her hands up into the air with a rough sigh and stormed out of the clinic.

Gault had chuckled as he watched her go, then settled back against the wall to watch Tobie glare at him. He shook his horned head at the doctor, then. "I've never touched her like that. And never will. So you can stop with the angry looks."

Tobie crossed his arms across his chest, looking at the Devaronian with a severe expression. "I didn't doubt that. She woke up here in my clinic at a mere six years of age - still bleeding, mind you – trying to find the boy who'd won her heart. Since she looked for him ever since, I highly doubt you've been able to change her mind. Not _that_ stubborn mind of hers. Tongue, or no."

"Then what's with the dirty looks, hmm?"

"Your teasing at such wounds is not acceptable to me."

Gault's gaze sharpened as he looked at the human, with his thick red hair sprinkled with gray and his blue eyes flashing angrily back at him. "She's tough as nails, that hunter. Gives as good as she gets. We're good together."

"Not good _enough_, though. She needs someone better, someone who'll keep her safe, who'll show her what it means to love someone as intent on protecting her as she is protecting them. And don't try lying to me. I know very well you follow Kas, because she provides you a place to hide, a security."

He'd thought then of what it would mean, to back off enough for someone else to fight alongside Kastiel. To give her that much protection, the safety of someone else's care and love, rather than be there himself. He'd seen enough Mandalorian teams going at it, the smooth synchronization of their motions together. Independent as they were, when Mandoes teamed up they fought like well-oiled machines, with deadly precision. And they were protective as hell of each other.

He'd nodded towards Tobie. "You do know she's found him, right?"

Tobie had grinned as he settled down at a nearby table, pouring some hot beverage into a cup and holding it out towards the Devaronian, then. "She told me months ago, when she caught sight of him at the Enclave and learned his name. Not much Kastiel doesn't tell me."

They'd talked for several hours, then, listening to the rain falling down onto the ground outside and waiting for Kastiel to return. Gault learned Kas struggled with headaches, migraines caused by her persistent implants. He discovered she had terrible nightmares, hard enough she woke screaming, her hands held up in front of her like she was still trying to push her way out from underneath her mother's corpse. And he found out what sort of taunts she'd endured as she grew up, in a world where flaws like deafness were reviled as a weakness.

"Came in one night to listen to one of the foreman from some Sith's estate, there to receive a particular inoculation to prevent fever, supposedly flirting with her. That's what he called it – flirting! What he said, though, was that he'd overlook her 'hideous face' because her tits were so nice. Oh, and would she mind turning her face away when it was they fucked, too. She was just barely thirteen."

"You hurt him, right?"

"I'm a doctor, trained by the Imperial Navy! So I did exactly what any good Imperial doctor would do in such a situation, of course. I loaded a stim with a toxin that caused a persistent itch over months of painful distress and applied it to his groin. I'm told he actually scratched his balls raw and bleeding. Literally."

Gault shook his head, now, as he trotted along behind Kastiel, thinking there was no way that blonde-haired Mandalorian she wanted would ask Kas to hide her face when he shared her bed. The man had regarded Kastiel like she was spun from pure aurodium, actually, like she was everything he'd ever wanted. His eyes had practically _burned_ as he watched her. Gault had almost felt guilty being the one who followed after her, knowing the Mando wanted to that badly, rather.

Kastiel stopped suddenly, her head cocked to the side as she listened to something he couldn't possibly hear, the slightest shuffle against the dusty floor of the cavern. Her implants provided a distinct advantage, enough that Gault'd learned to trust her caution whenever it became obvious. She glanced back at him, motioning towards a darker, shadowy section of the looming cavern in front of them.

Gault nodded back, moving steadily towards a rocky outcropping he could just barely discern that was set against the cavern's far wall. He lowered himself carefully, slowly and quietly raising his rifle to shoulder length and resting it on top of the rough surface of the stone in front of him. Then he waited, watching as Kastiel edged herself closer to the dark alcove where the monster was lurking, exactly as they'd planned as they approached the cave.

"_Certainly a Sithspawn. What it was twisted from is the only question. Something big, though. Probably something cruel and violent to begin with, too. It's tortured now. The pain will drive it to even greater levels of aggression. Be ready, Gault_."

Kastiel stepped softly, encroaching on the center space of the cavern. She heard a muffled sound, a distinctive snort of something … large. She stopped, listening carefully. There it was, the smooth snore of a creature sleeping. She glanced back, grinning towards the rocky projection where Gault was perched. She lifted up one fist, clutching the grenade, there, in one gloved palm, and watched as the Devaronian waved back at her, ready.

Kas thumbed the device, watched as the red lights of its countdown markers illuminated the place where she was standing. She heard one more scuffle of movement from the creature sleeping fitfully in its rock-strewn hole. Then she threw the grenade, watched it arching over the length of the space, looking like a crimson-colored comet winging its way through the sky. It hit the beast before detonating, waking it enough it grunted a heavy sound of surprise as the grenade smacked against it.

Then the explosive ignited, sending an incendiary boom of blistering material flaming through the enclosed space where the beast was resting. A violent, catastrophic roar sounded through the space as the creature roused to full and painful awareness. Kastiel watched it bound out from its lair, lumbering in a bleeding wreck towards her, bellowing madly.

It was massive! Its horned head almost scraped the roof of the cavern and its horns actually did reach up above its skull to catch along the roof's surface. Kastiel's own head stretched high enough she only barely faced its colossal thighs. No fur, although she suspected it had once possessed it, could see old gouges and furrows where the creature had scratched, probably trying to ease the itch of fur falling loose.

Whatever it had been was lost. Now it was just a pitiful monster, moaning in pain. Doubly so, as blood marked its face where the grenade's explosion had obviously impacted. Huge rivulets of purplish blood ran down over its snout, so that it kept sneezing, flinging trails of bloody snot onto the dusty floor next to its enormous feet.

Kastiel was moving, fast, darting forward between its mammoth legs. She utterly ignored its swinging genitalia. Instead, she spun around to loose both her blasters against the back of the thing's left knee. It thundered an incredible roar of pain and agitation, trying to swing around to find her. Gault's rifle was spitting a steady stream of bolts, all of them flying fast through the air and hitting the creature along the side and back of its head as it swung crazily, its arms flailing to catch at the bounty hunter who was dancing back out the creature's reach.

But the damage to its knee was extraordinary. It tried stepping but stumbled, only slightly at first. Then the stumble turned into a fall as the creature began toppling to its side, bellowing in pain and agony as it collapsed. Gault jumped up onto the top of his rock ledge, his rifle held up as he yelled to the thing to just die, firing steadily at whatever vulnerable spots on the creature he could see.

Kastiel herself moved quickly, dashing forward. She leapt, landing unsteadily on top of the beast. She heard it grunt as her boots dug into its ribs. It looked up at her, its eyes glaring at her in a red haze, maddened. It opened its mouth, preparing to bite at her. But Kastiel jumped again, landing this time onto the top of its face. She felt the pop of its eyeball under one of her boots, heard it warbling another cry of miserable torment. Then she bent, placing her blasters against the thing's forehead. And she unloaded.

The creature's skull burst under the force of Kastiel's attack. A spray of blood and gore gushed into the air, saturating Kastiel in vile, bloody muck. Gault trotted over, listening to Kas as she gagged and spit against the stuff covering her. He yelled up to where she remained balanced so precariously on the now dead thing's nose.

"Dammit, Kas! Get your ass down here, before you fall into that thing's mouth and I have to fish you out!"

"I think I'm going to puke!"

"Fine. But do it down here!"

Kastiel wiped her eyes clear of bloody fluid, looking down at the thing's gaping mouth lined with what looked like hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. Strangely enough, considering how large the creature was, the teeth weren't so much massive as they were plentiful. She considered taking its jaw for a trophy but disregarded the notion quickly when she caught sight of its large expanse of chest behind the jut of its chin. She grunted, just before taking a jumping leap onto the beast's chest.

Gault was talking to himself from below her. She listened to him, smiling. "Why did I even follow along behind such a damn stupid female? Fucking Mandalorians run away from the creature … but does she? Nooooo! She jumps on its face! Its fucking face!"

Kastiel chuckled, pulling out a longhandled blade that she held up over her head.

"I can hear you laughing, Kas. Dammit, what're you doing? Oh, now that's gross." Gault shuddered as the sound of hacking through flesh shivered through the dark space. She cut and sawed her way through the thing's chest before finally reaching her goal. "I am not carrying that thing, Kastiel. Do you hear me? I'm not!"

"Can't possibly be as gross as carrying Tyresius Lokei through the streets of Mos Illa, admit it."

Gault frowned, considering. Then he shook his head. "That thing's heart is still heavy as hell. No! I'm not doing it!"

* * *

"_Oya_! _Oya_! _Parjir_!"

Torian rose to his feet as the calls of victory spread through the camp. He looked towards the cave opening, breathing deeply, deliberately rhythmic, the exercise working to ease his disquiet in the hours he'd spent waiting. "She's back," he barked towards Jogo, his tone heavy with satisfaction. Jogo murmured a disbelieving sound, coming to stand next to Torian to watch as Kastiel stepped out from the darkness of the cave.

Purplish-red blood covered her, from head to toe. Torian blinked as he looked at her, felt his breathing hitch as he scanned her quickly, hurriedly looking to see what wounds on her might've added to the mess that coated her. The blood was mostly dry against her skin and armor, but it still gleamed wetly in some spots. He clenched his fists, wanting to do nothing as much as rush across the field to make sure there was no cut, no laceration, nothing that would've made her hurt, made her bleed.

She looked around impassively, scanning the gathering group of warriors, listening to their calls of celebratory excitement. But she smiled when she caught sight of Torian, and the pleasure of it spread through him. She held up one fist, looking straight at him, her stance triumphant. The Mandalorians around her responded with even more shouts and yells, cheering loudly for their champion. The image was an indelible one, held fast in the minds of everyone there. Torian knew he'd never forget the way she stood there, determinedly, her fist up in the air, with the blood of their enemy drying against her skin and in her hair.

Desire burned through him, hot and hard, so that his groin stiffened even more into rigid preparedness. Not that it had lessened much ever since she walked into the camp, either. He shifted his stance, returning to his breathing exercise as the bounty hunter turned around to address her companion. The Devaronian was stumbling as he emerged from the cave, clumsily handling a large plastic-like sack almost as bloodstained as the hunter herself. Torian could hear them talking to each other as the pair approached the campfire.

"I told you I hate you, right? I know I did. At some point. Was it when you shot me in the ass? No! I remember! I told you I hated you right about the time that monkey-lizard ate my favorite shirt. Gods, this thing is heavy!"

Kastiel grunted back at him. "You changed your mind. Probably when I bought you a new, nicer shirt."

"Yea, but then you laughed when I got that nerf sandwich in the face!"

"Nope, that was Mako you said you hated."

"It was both of you. I was there, wearing an onion _you_ told me to put on my good horn!"

"Hey, I was trying to help! You would've looked sexy with an onion on your horn, admit it."

Gault grumbled, shaking his head at the ringing calls that continued from the gathered Mandalorians. "Not half as sexy as I think these Mandoes think of you covered in all that bloody goo, Kas. They're practically drooling, all of them. Well … can't say about the ones wearing helmets, of course. But … sheesh, I think that Jogo guy, there, really _is_ drooling, look!"

Jogo scowled, snarling at the both of them. "I am _not_ drooling! What are you carrying, Devaronian?"

"Gault. My name is Gault Rennow. Or I could start calling you Human. You are human, right?" Gault sighed as he laid his burden down on the ground. He stretched then, reaching behind himself to clasp his hands together as he bent and pulled against his muscles, easing the aches along his back and shoulders.

Kastiel waved towards Torian. "It's dead. See?"

She showed _him_ her prize. Not anyone else. She didn't even look at another warrior, in fact. It was a blatantly obvious honor, a distinction that all of the Mandalorians noted and whispered over in hushed tones. She frowned as she heard that word again, the one that brought a stiff look to Torian's face. But she ignored it when he did.

Torian looked down at the large bloody mass that Gault had lugged out from the cave, recognized the heart for what it was. The beast was dead, Dev was avenged. He grunted, proud and pleased. "Ugly," he said, his golden-colored eyes staring into hers. Jogo was gaping at the massive thing.

"How …? I don't understand how you were able to kill it when so many of my own _aliit_ could not." Jogo actually stammered. Kastiel shrugged.

"It's about fighting smart, not just hard." She gestured. "You're so hungry for a fight, Jogo, you don't stop long enough to think about how you're going to make it. You just rush right in there. But that way it's your enemy that controls the course. When you lack control is when you're beaten." Kastiel swayed, suddenly tired. "I need to wash. Gault?"

"I've got the shelter, yea. I'll set it against that far space, there. Find somewhere you can get clean."

Torian watched the Devaronian as he yanked and pulled the trophy away, moving towards a far corner of the field. Kastiel turned, smiling slightly as the crowd of Mandalorians cheered her one more time before moving off and away. Torian suddenly reached out to touch her shoulder, felt her quiver lightly. She looked at him.

"There's a large stream nearby, with water that falls over some rocks. I'll show you." Torian gestured, grunting lightly when Kastiel followed him. Jogo called out to him as they moved off, something rude, the _mando'a_ words reminding him the champion was worthy of more than an _aru'tal_'s attention.

Kastiel yanked loose her chestplate when they reached the stream, well within sight of the camp. She knew the other Mandalorians were watching, the obvious security of the water source probably why they'd chosen the location to camp. She held the armor under the fall of water, watching as the blood washed free of the metal surface to splash into the pool below. She leaned over, then, pushing her head into the waterfall so that her head and neck would be clean. Water ran down her torso, saturating her shirt so that the material clung wetly to her frame.

Torian looked away, biting back a hard groan. He thought, instead, over the motions he would need to take, over everything Aily and Korwis had told him of Jicoln, of his habits, his mannerisms. What weapons he preferred, what strategies he was most apt to take on any particular field. Torian breathed in, mentally preparing, trying to ignore the splashing sounds from nearby.

There wasn't anyone else more capable of opposing Jicoln than he himself was; and killing Jicoln had now become precious important a task. Torian glanced towards Kastiel, who was quickly washing the blood from her legplates, carefully taking care of her armor. Her breasts pressed against the wet material of her shirt. Even her breast band underneath was unable to obscure the hard points of her nipples, beaded as they were under the cold, wet fabric. "_Jate_," he mumbled, lowering his gaze when she looked over at him.

"I'm not sure of the words you use. Mandalorians, I mean. But I'd like to learn. What's _jate_?" Kastiel admitted. She frowned when he hesitated.

"It means 'good'."

"Oh. My armor? Or cleaning it?" Kastiel smiled, holding up the glove she was splashing under the waterfall.

Torian nodded, feeling better that she'd managed to provide him an excuse to avoid what he thought was really 'good' in watching her bathe. "It's important to keep your armor ready for the next fight."

Kastiel moved to her pack, pulling out a dry shirt that she used to quickly replace her wet one. She examined the cloth of the wet shirt critically, wondering if it was worth saving. Deciding the bloodstains were too heavy, Kas didn't put it into her pack. She pulled her armor back into place, looking over at Torian, smiling when she saw he was watching her calmly.

"Thank you."

He looked at her, bemused. "For what? All I did was sit here."

Kastiel laughed. "But you looked so nice just sitting there. I enjoyed the view."

Torian's hand shot out suddenly, his fingers stretching out to smooth along her jaw, up and over the rough edges of her scars. His touch moved slowly across her skin, whispering almost. The familiar gesture, the sight of him with his hand held up against her face, sparked some deep emotions, made her feel needy, wanted. Her eyes glittered darkly as she looked back at him, and that's when _he_ groaned.

"That's the way you looked at me then, too," he spoke so softly to her.

She watched him, leaned slightly into his touch. They stayed there, silent and still for several long moments. Then Jogo called out, his rough voice mean and course, even if she couldn't understand his words. But Torian did, and he dropped his hand from her face, stepping back. "I'll take you back."

She looked over towards Jogo, frowning as she regarded his angry expression. "What does that word mean? The one he keeps calling you. I think it's an insult."

He didn't look at her. "It means I'm not worthy to touch you. Not yet."

Kastiel watched him go, then. She sighed, feeling suddenly cold and never mind the muggy air of the Dromund Kaas evening.

* * *

**_alor'ad _- captain, commander**

**_Ori'buyce, kih'kovid _- phrase meaning "all helmet, no head"**

**_hu'tuun - _coward (worse insult a Mando can give)**

**_vod_ - brother, sister, comrade**

**___Ke'sush _- Attention!**

**_Baruk _- danger**

**_Megin_ _haran_ - phrase meaning "what the hell"**

**_di'kut - _fool, useless individual (depending on context, can also mean jerk or moron, etc.)**

**_Mando'a_ - the Mandalorian language**

**_Aru'tal _- traitor's son/daughter (literally, "blood of the traitor")**

**_Burc'ya_ - friend, close bond**

**_verd'goten_ - the blooding, a coming of age ritual that most Mandalorians experience at age 13, to show they're adults capable of fighting/protecting the clan**

**_gai bal manda _- adoption ceremony, involves the Mandalorian's declaration of intent ("I know your name as my child")**

**_Oya!_ - A cheer, meaning "let's hunt" or "Stay alive" but also "Hoorah!" or "Go, you!". It's always positive and triumphant.**

**_Parjir_! - To win, be victorious**

**_aliit_ - clan or family**

**_Jate _- good**


	53. Chapter 52 -- Not Exactly Natural

Mako ran into the clinic, gasping fast, almost hyperventilating. She leaned over, holding her knees as she breathed hard, fast. Tobie frowned over at her, waving as he handed a stim to the twi'lek man he was working with, "Apply this to your thigh first thing tomorrow morning. It should clear up the fever. But ensure you avoid broths that contain munch-fungus. I know it's popular in twi'lek dishes but the fungus exasperates your allergies."

Tobie pointed Mako towards his back office. He rushed through the directions for his medical droids, so that he could join Mako. He found her pacing back and forth in the office, mumbling, "I don't understand any of this, it's crazy. Lunatic sort of crazy. Like mad bat-shit crazy."

Tobie sighed. "Circumnavigating the length of my office repeatedly isn't going to make it any more sane, I imagine."

She stopped, looking at him with wide, glazed eyes. "I just killed my sisters. Ergh, maybe. I think. Well, they looked like me. A lot like me. Like twin me's. Or maybe not. Is it likely, do you think, that I'd be one of a set of quadruplents, implanted with cutting-edge technology, and then abandoned on the streets of Nar Shaddaa?"

Tobie only stood there, staring at her with a bemused expression on his face. "Well, you're correct about one thing, at least."

"Oh, really? What?"

"It's definitely crazy."

Mako snorted. "That's not helping, Tobie. I figured if anyone could help me figure things out, it would be you."

"Really? And you couldn't wait for Kas? Blasters can prove helpful if you're going to be killing people." Mako began pacing again. Tobie settled his hip against his work table, sighing wearily as he glanced upwards, thinking. "First things first, Mako. You killed someone?"

"Two someone's. My sisters. Or at least two women who looked _exactly_ like me. But they tried killing _me_ first! I swear!"

"Interesting. Now. What _exactly_ did you do with the bodies?"

"Easy. I left them in the alley behind the building where I was trying to get information about Izak."

"And who is Izak?"

"Coral – she's my sister, too – said he was an SIS agent hunting for us. Well, her, at least. Not me so much. No one seems to really know who I am, actually."

"SIS? Oh. Well, that's just brilliant. You couldn't have _started_ by telling me that?"

Mako glared at the doctor as he reached for his commlink. "I was careful. I figured the less people I told, the less chance someone would get hurt."

He shook his head, looking at her like a disappointed daddy might look at a child who'd just admitted she had a stomach ache after eating too many sweets. "Mako. These people depend on subterfuge, deceit. They live in the shadows. A lot like those pests that scurry around only in the dark. You decided to play in their world, where they have all the power. That was stupid." She blinked furiously, refused to cry. He sighed when she chose to sulk instead. "Truly, Mako. Why didn't you wait for Kastiel? Even Gault might have been able to help, crazy as that sounds."

"Kas didn't like me poking around for answers. I mean, she didn't stop me or anything. But I know she didn't want me to, either. Is that who you called? That's great. Just _great_. She's going to kill me."

He shook his head as he waved her towards the doorway, yanking a pale white cloak over his jacket as they went outside the clinic. "No. Kas and Gault are still looking for that target the Mandalorians were hunting. She suspected it was a sithspawn. I refuse to distract her from such a dangerous task. But we must retrieve these remains. Many of the answers you need can be found in a pair of bodies that look so much like you, Mako."

They hurried through the dark streets of Kaas City. There weren't many people traveling along the roadways, probably because of the inevitable rain starting to fall. Even the patrols were huddled in the archways of various doorways as they passed by. The soldiers only glanced towards them before ignoring the white-cloak of a medic rushing along the way. It wasn't until they reached the square where Lord Ergast's monument loomed that Tobie slowed, waving a single hand towards one of the more shadowed alcoves.

Mako gaped as a large, lumbering shadow appeared and shuffled towards them. A black-furred Wookiee snuffled a greeting as he approached. She glanced behind him, looked at the heavy cart he was pulling in his wake. "Mako, this is Gramum. He helps me with various tasks in and around the city, mostly involving the transport of bodies. Dead and otherwise. We tend to be a common enough sight, that no one will bother us. Now, Mako. Please, show us the way."

* * *

Kastiel found Mako huddled over the table in the mess. Mako didn't look up as Kas tumbled into a chair and laid her head against its back, huffing a loud sigh of tired aggravation. They only sat there, quiet, listening to the hum of the ship's power generators, the slow, subtle buzzing of the overhead lights, and Gault, of course, who was yelling at Quinnie for … doing something, somewhere. Probably in his quarters. Kas shook her head, chuckling wearily.

Mako grumbled, then. "I'm not really human, Kas. I'm a freak."

Kastiel sighed. "And here I thought you were going to give me some really _bad_ news."

"I'm serious! Stop making a joke about this!"

Kastiel's head snapped forward, her eyes suddenly bright, vivid and glaring. She leaned forward, almost reaching across the table, holding up one hand as she pointed a single, long finger towards the little cyborg. "Who the fuck is joking? You think I'm laughing when I say I'm not in the least concerned what the hell you _are_, Mako?" The hunter's voice rose steadily until she was nearly shouting. Belowstairs, Gault became quiet.

"Bad news would be admitting to me there's people looking for you who might try hurting you, people I can't see coming. Worst news would be telling me you went looking for trouble when I wasn't around to help. But don't think for a second I give a flying rat's ass you've come from a lab rather than were tossed out by some bitch of a family like so many other orphans on Nar Shaddaa! Saves me the trouble of hunting them down!" Kastiel stood up, so angry she was shaking. She screamed, then, "Damn it, Mako! The next time you go hunting for trouble without telling me what the fuck is going on, I'll put a scar on your ass that matches the one on Gault's!"

Mako stared after the bounty hunter as she stomped from the lounge down the hall towards her quarters, huffing the entire way. She thought crazily it was lucky the ship's doors didn't slam when shoved closed forcefully. As it was, she could hear Kastiel kicking the edge of the door, causing a loud bang to echo through the ship, just before she went inside the room.

Mako sat there, staring bemusedly in the direction Kas had gone for several long moments. She absently rubbed her hands along the surface of the table, thinking furiously. She was so intently thinking, in fact, that Gault's voice caught her completely by surprise.

"I say piss her off enough she shoots you. At least then I won't be the only one of us who's butt she fixed." Gault was standing at the top of the stairs, slowly rubbing one red hand along the curve of his ass. Mako shook her head.

"I'm not as stupid as you are, Gault."

"Seriously, you believe that? Sweetheart, I ask for permission before I go doing shit that might piss her off. That way it's not _me_ she's pissed at when things go badly."

Mako sighed, looking back down at the table. She ignored the Devaronian as he retrieved a couple of glasses and a bottle. She stared down at the glass of shimmering amber liquid when Gault pushed it in front of her. He snorted at her. "Down it, girlie. Correllian whiskey should never be allowed to go to waste. It's practically a rule!"

She raised an eyebrow at him, so that the implant above her eye twinkled a silvery flash at him. He grinned, raising his glass up. They shot the alcohol towards the back of their throats. Gault hummed happily but Mako leaned forward coughing as the stuff burned its way down to her stomach. He chuckled, watching her.

"Mako, you're cute enough, she'll forgive you. The worst you'll get is a lecture about how 'you better not do it again'. Nothing to worry about!"

Mako coughed a few more times as she twirled the glass back and forth across the table. She shook her head, "I pissed her off more when I thought she'd like me less for being unnatural. The last thing Kas would ever do is look down on someone for what they are, rather than who. I should've known better."

Gault shrugged. "Don't see what makes you unnatural, personally. Have you seen how some species reproduce? The Columi abhor touch of any kind, in fact. Don't think they like anything that involves actually moving their bodies, even. They use machines to 'exchange bodily fluids' is how one fellow described it."

"Not everyone can be so enlightened as you, Gault." Mako frowned, then, hesitant to ask.

"Spit it out. The question, mind you. Not the liquor. Do _not_ puke on me!"

"I wasn't going to puke! I just … well." Mako took a deep breath. Gault watched her trying to figure out how to pose the question. She stopped. Tried again. He thought she looked like a fish under water, bobbing her mouth open and closed again as if breathing. He grinned at the thought. Eventually, though, she blurted it out in a rush. "What about Corso? I'm not exactly a … well, I'm not … normal!"

Gault leaned forward, curious. "Is this a result, do you think, of cybernetics? Or maybe it's how cybernetics affect a female brain?"

"What?"

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Well, come on, Mako. Not like you're the first cyborg woman I've talked to recently who worries endlessly over how the fellow she loves is going to react to her cybernetic features."

"You mean Kas? But she's …"

Gault held up a hand, shaking his head. "Trust me, Mako. So are you."

"I didn't even finish what I was going to say!"

"You didn't have to." Gault shrugged. "Mako, I don't imagine he'll care one way or the other how you were made. And honestly? If he did, I'd just rip him apart. Give you the important parts. Problem solved."

"You're crazy, Gault."

"Oh, trust me, I know. Look what sort of people I've decided to spend my retirement with, sheesh!"

* * *

Mako sighed as the kiosk slid by the nearby window, the brilliant wash of colored lights flaring brightly across the walls of the hotel room. The voice of the twi'lek woman advertising one of the nearby cantinas provided a rather comforting hum as the advert slid further along its way. She stiffened when she heard the blip of the code being input on the nearby door.

"Mako! Sweet, wait until I tell you what we managed to pull off! The captain's hit the big time, woo-ee!" Corso almost bounded into the room, waving his arms excitedly. He tossed his bundle against a nearby wall before settling his rifle against the side of the bedside table.

Then, he glanced across the space towards her, frowning when he saw the serious expression on her face. Corso was not the wisest of men. He would've been purely content to live out his life as a simple herder on some backworld on the far edges of the galaxy, in fact. But the one single bit of brilliance he could claim was a real appreciation for the subtle nuances of feminine pique.

Women, he'd realized once when he was still quite young, worried over every niggling thing at an almost constant rate. Like every moment of every day. Give them hormones enough and they worried still more. They agonized, even. It was like a sport to them, to sit back and watch stuff and just plain worry about it. Worry about what it tasted like, looked like, sounded like. Mostly, they worried about what it _felt_ like.

Corso got it, he understood it. Now, if only he could figure out a way to avoid it when their worries were focused on him, he'd be set. Unfortunately, that bit of sage brilliance escaped him. He wondered if he'd learn it before he finally died. He doubted it. He imagined men had been beating their heads against _that_ wall long before he himself was born, and would surely continue long after his body was mere dust spread across some ground somewhere.

At the moment, he settled back, leaning against one nearby wall as he considered her. He spoke softly. "Let's just get the important stuff out of the way, first. Is Kastiel alive and in one piece?" Mako nodded. "Gault? Okay. What about the monkey-lizard?"

Mako started smiling. "You consider the monkey-lizard important?"

"To me? Not at all. I'd be perfectly content if you told me its tail caught on fire and it went out in a flaming circle of screaming death. But you? Maybe you'd be upset if that happened. So is the little beast all right?"

"Yea. He's fine."

He held up his fingers, trying to tick off anymore concerns he thought might be bothering her. "Nothing wrong with the ship, then? You finished your hunts with Kas? You weren't _hurt,_ were you? Mako, did someone hurt you? I'll find them, dammit to hell!"

By now, Mako's smile was sugary, her eyes glittering as she regarded him. "No one's hurt me, Corso."

He sighed as he watched her, bemused at the look on her face. He chalked it up to yet another aspect of female-ness he wasn't going to really understand. Then he crossed his arms across his chest. "Well, then. You've got me at a loss. Can't imagine what could possibly be so bad you'd look at me like I was going to be upset."

Mako bit her lip, glancing away from him. She decided it was best to just say it, just spit it out. Let the chips fall where they would. The room was paid for through the end of the following day, at least. She mentally thanked Kastiel, sighing. "I found out I'm not exactly … natural. I'm a clone! A fucking clone, Corso!"

He stood there, quietly watching her. She took a breath, waiting. He blinked. "Sorry. But I'm waiting to hear something that's supposed to bother me," Corso admitted.

She looked at him wildly. "I'm not actually _natural_!"

He chuckled. "Well, you felt pretty damn _natural_ to me the last time we were here. Quite a few times, too, I might add."

"I'm a freak! And there are more … well, me's. That Coral girl? She's one, too. Who knows how many there are! Hell, I don't even know if I'm the original. The … prototype. What if I'm the one that's flawed, failed somehow?" Mako was agitated enough she started pacing. Corso watched her going back and forth across the floor. He smiled as he started unbuckling his white, armored chestplate.

"Well, I suppose that could be a problem, if there are dozens of you running around. We could come up with a codeword, maybe. Something only the two of us would know, so that I'd know it was you, if I ever bumped into another one, hmm?"

She gasped, spinning around. "How do you know it's me _now_?"

He laughed. "Who else would've known how much I hate that monkey-lizard? Oh, and had the code to our room, to boot. Hell, the damn doorman downstairs is starting to know the both of us. Maybe we should just rent the place on a permanent basis. What do you think?"

She smiled blearily at him, finally noticing he was undressing. His armor was already lying on the floor against the side of the bed. He smiled back at her as he yanked his shirt over his head, lifting a hand to beckon her closer. She whimpered, "You still want me, Corso?"

Corso hummed as he settled himself on the edge of the bed, "Uhm hum. I can show you, too."

She smiled as her eyes became dark and hot, watching him sitting there. She stepped closer, moving to stand between his spread knees. She reached up, looping her hands around the back of his neck, before leaning over to whisper into his ear, licking against the sensitive flesh just underneath his soft lobe, there. She shivered as she felt his hands running up along the line of her spine, so that he could reach for the fastenings on her jacket. She whispered to him, "Then show me."


	54. Chapter 53 -- Gai Bal Manda

**So I wanted to upload this chapter yesterday, had it all prepared before I arrived at home, I thought. You can't imagine how much I wanted to cry when I logged onto my computer and couldn't find the file I'd thought I'd transferred from my notepad earlier in the day. Especially as I was sure I'd deleted the thing off my pad. Hey, don't ask. Just know I was completely bummed last night. I ended up staying up way too late, doing dailies out on Illum, and yelling at the idiot griefers who decided to pummel my poor characters.**

**Which brings me to a couple of good news points this morning:**

**(1) Obviously, I found the file on my notepad. Touched it up a bit and here it is, bright and early this morning.**

**(2) Got my characters of Gaibriel and Khyriel done with their dailies on Illum. Gaibriel did a fantastic job during a HM run to take down Xeno. He's got more than enough helix-parts to get himself a fancy new legacy weapon, yay! Oh, and he looks hot in that Gree armor-set. Then Khyriel managed to sneak every single friggin' orb into the pylon, despite that jackass who kept hunting for him. Next time you're begging for heals, you jerk, I'll literally shoot a bird at my computer screen, trust me! Go pick on the Pubs, dangit! ****(Sorry, Gaibriel.)**

* * *

_They called him "Bloodworthy". Only because he swore the Hunt's purpose was to cull the weak from the ranks of true warriors, to prove one's strength. Not for wealth or privilege. Which isn't to say he begrudged such prizes, either. But he held the title of champion, firmly, only to show the galaxy as a whole that he was worthy of it._

_And the name stuck. Better than the name of his homeworld did, even. That name was lost somewhere along the way. But he was quick to point out his world made true warriors, strong and capable. He swore they were tougher and greater than the Mandalorians themselves, said the code the Mandalorians held so fast to was really a binding, a hindrance._

_"Keeps 'em so locked into rote step, there's no real advantage, no spur towards better. A real warrior doesn't let anyone or anything judge him unworthy. He just shows 'em the might and power he's capable of, cause he already knows it's beyond judging."_

* * *

The Mandalorians were pounding the table towards the end of the meal, trying to keep the beat to the songs they were singing. Kastiel laughed as she watched them, her head swimming from the potent fruit-flavored liquor that Rykos kept filling her cup with. Artus watched her from his place at the head of the table, amused as she sang along using words she wasn't certain of the meaning to yet.

She'd have to learn _mando'a_, he thought. And Fett's warriors on Dromund Kaas had learned how interested she was in learning, too.

Speaking of Fett's warriors … he smiled with amusement as he noticed Rykos moving his chair closer to Kastiel's again. She didn't even consciously note the subtle movement, her lack of interest was so total. But she still scooted back slightly. The process continued for several more moments, until the bounty hunter was very practically sitting in Gault's lap. She pressed up against him, almost.

The Devaronian glanced over, grinning at the offending Mando as he pushed one single booted foot against the man's chair just as he was reaching over to try and touch Kas' knee under the table. Rykos yelled out a disagreeable sound when his chair flew back, but the rest of the Mandalorians cheered when he tumbled to the floor. Rykos just laughed as he rolled smoothly back to his feet, bowing low in a dramatic gesture towards the crowd.

"_N'eparavu takisit_," Rykos said, smiling towards Kastiel. She shrugged, looking confused at the _mando'a_ words. "An apology, champion. Means 'I eat my insult'. Had no right to touch you. Your friend was right to boot me on my ass." Artus grunted approvingly from his seat at the head of the table, pointing at Rykos, "Hah, the Devaronian saved you, Rye! And you know it!"

Rykos blushed, then, even as laughter rang through the hall once again. He knew well that the warning in Artus' tone was real enough, no matter how much laughter ensued. Not that any warrior would cast disparaging views towards the Champion even if she'd taken dozens of lovers to her bed. Although Rykos strongly doubted it, too. But no honorable warrior would tolerate insults towards her, either. It was Mandalore himself who broke the nose of the soldier who'd snidely joked that Devaronian horns must give the hunter something to hold onto when she took her pleasure.

Artus had sneered down at the bleeding man, "Insult a Mando woman like that, and it won't be _my_ fist you have to worry about. Mando women just take you apart! Learn the lesson today, from me, and be grateful for it."

Rykos was glad, now, when Mako suddenly diverted everyone's attention. The small female suddenly bent over as she endured a fit of coughing, gagging against the taste of the liquor the Mandalorians were passing around the table. "Oh, gods, I'm dying! How the hell do you people drink that stuff? It's like pure fire against the back of my throat!"

Mako leaned over the table, looking utterly pitiful as she hung her head there, desperately dragging cool air into her mouth. The sight produced another rowdy burst of laughter from the Mandalorians, who called out to her, "Don't let the _tihaar_ get the best of you, Mako!" She enjoyed the ribaldry, actually. She happily threw her empty cup at one of the warriors, who laughed as he caught it up and filled it with more of the fruity brandy.

Kastiel grabbed the now-full cup from him, though, holding it up as more cheers sounded through the dining hall and fists pounded the table. The steady beat of their palms against the table's surface pulsed through the space as Kas gulped the _tihaar_ down until it was gone. She tossed the cup into the air once it was empty again, laughing when the Mandalorians followed suit, all of them throwing their empty cups so that they fell with a resounding clatter onto the floor around the table.

It was Kastiel who noted movement near the doorway, though. She spun quickly, kicking out with one foot to send a single, hard cup flying through the air towards the door. The armored man entering the room, though, caught the thing rather easily, even if he did grumble at the effort. The Zabrak woman next to him snarled, "What did I tell you guys? Mandalorians are stupid crazy. We could wipe their drunk asses all over this floor right now. What say you?"

Kastiel shrugged. "Is that before or after you wipe the blood off your head?"

The woman sneered at her. "What blood are you talking about, infant?"

"The blood that'll spill over your face when I shoot your horns off." Kastiel smiled at her, then. "Don't get me wrong, either. They're real nice horns. I'd hate to see you lose them."

The man chuckled, his brown almond-shaped eyes crinkling. "I like her, Jew'la. She's got gumption. It'll take her far."

"Don't make me laugh, Bloodworthy. Real gumption would have her telling every Mandalorian in this room to stick their damn notions of so-called honor straight up their ass. Not sing along with them." Jew'la Nightbringer sneered at the entire gathering, taking perverse pleasure from the angry mumbles she heard. None of them had balls enough, she knew, to say a single negative word to her face. Kastiel didn't have balls, though, and she certainly didn't count on them.

"And you call _me_ an infant? At least I don't throw a whiny fit when the big kids don't want to play with me."

Bloodworthy barked out a sound of amusement, then, heartily slapping an open palm against Jew'la's rigid back and ignoring the glare she shot towards him. He just pushed her into the room while Artus climbed to his feet. The Mandalorians were pounding the table again as the Hunt's champions entered. "Mandalore! We made it to your party! Now introduce the newest champion, so we can get down to the celebrating. Hell, that's why I came! You, there! Go make sure Mandalore's stocks of black ale haven't already been guzzled, quick! Defenestrator will get angry if you drank it all."

"I do not consume liquid beverages, Bloodworthy, as you are well aware." Kastiel was rather surprised the droid champion of the Great Hunt didn't clank his way into the room. Somehow, she thought, droids should clank. They had metal parts, after all. Metal was supposed to clank on metal. But the Defenestrator moved smoothly into the room, not even swinging his head to look around. Like a stalking predator. It was almost eerie, in a way.

Jew'la sighed loudly. "It's called humor, droid. Download a program. It _might_ help."

Artus called out, then, his voice booming above the tumult of voices, insults, and challenges. "Friends! Champions! It's time!" Kastiel was wondering which one she was – friend or champion … both? - when several hard armored hands pushed against her back, propelling her towards the Mandalore. She shot the group behind her a hard-edged glare when she stumbled, but they hid there behind suddenly helmeted faces, looking duly Mandalorian. She just knew they were laughing behind those faceplates! "Kastiel Blade," Artus intoned solemnly.

Everything became quiet suddenly, all of the Mandalorians turning in near synchronization to face the Mandalore. Kastiel nodded as she stepped closer to him. Mako held her breath, actually reaching out to nudge Gault with a single elbow. He shoved her back, of course.

_"Is that what you want? To be a Mando?"_

_"Mandoes saved me once. They were tough, strong. They destroyed the sons of bitches who killed my mother, and they did it without even breaking a sweat. Then they picked me up and carried me miles when others would've left me to die….Yea, Mako. I want that, to be a part of that, to belong to it. I want it, so that my enemies will stop to think twice before threatening me ever again."_

Mandalore didn't produce some wordy document, then. No tomes or books, no law-making rule-enforcing dignitaries. There wasn't even a droid to document the occasion. Unless you counted the Defenestrator, who everyone knew wouldn't forget a single word or sight of the entire process. Very few knew Kastiel wouldn't forget any of it, either.

But Artus only stood taller, looming over Kastiel's upturned face. He looked down at her, at the scars that etched across her face and the implants spanning the soft flesh under her eyes. And he told them all his intention. He said, "_Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad_."

Word as action, the Mandalorian way. He called her his child. So she was.

* * *

The stars were sliding by outside the viewing screen in front of them. Kastiel watched them moving along, her hands clasped together behind her back as she stood there, pondering the worlds beyond their sight, teeming with life. And of dying, of course. There was never life without dying. It was how you lived in the meantime that was important, right?

Artus watched her, though. Not the stars. Perhaps because he'd seen more stars in the course of his own life than Kastiel. More likely he just found her rather more interesting right then. He eased himself back in his chair, raising a cup to his mouth to gulp down one last draught of ale. "Not right that I didn't tell you of the war before I asked you to join us, Kastiel. More that it's not right I'll leave you behind, leave you on your own to show them what it is we are, the best we have to offer. There's always been a Mandalorian, here, that held the title of Champion. But I would've liked to show you what it was to be Mandalorian before I marched off, too."

She twisted a grin towards him. "I wouldn't have changed my mind, though. You could've told me I'd go with you, rather, that I'd fight on your battlefields, and I would've done it."

He regarded her. "That only makes me wonder what might've changed your mind, though."

She shrugged, looking back towards the stars. "My people. There's no warrior stronger than the one who fights for and is fought for, in turn, by his people. If you'd asked me to compromise them, turn on them, or allow them to be harmed – well, that would've proved problematic."

He hummed softly, resting back against his chair again. He was deeply satisfied, sitting there, watching the light streaming in through the viewing screen to shine across her face. She proved so many things to him, this hunter from out of the masses of the galaxy. Proved what the Hunt was all about, what it was designed to do, to find. "I know there's more to that statement than one small cyborg and snarky Devaronian, too. But I won't ask about the others, either. Just remember you're not fighting alone anymore."

The Mandalore stood up. The hall wasn't completely empty, he saw. There was still a small crowd of Mandalorians gathered around the table, playing pazaak with the Defenestrator. He grunted a sound of amusement as he spied them, there, wondered at the temerity of warriors who'd take on a droid in a game of chance.

"Mandalore?" He turned back to Kastiel. She'd crossed her arms across her chest when she faced the room again, frowning with curiosity. She didn't stammer out the question, either. She addressed him directly, certainly, so that he knew it was more something she'd been pondering for a time. "What is _aru'tal_? I don't know what the word means."

Artus sighed, then. He'd heard the whispers coming back from Dromund Kaas. Hell, it wasn't even only one of the warriors that told him what happened. They'd all wanted to know his feelings, how he'd react, once he was told Jicoln's son touched her. But he'd only listened to each telling, nodded, and then changed the subject.

Now he stepped closer to his own chosen fighter, the one he'd called his child. And he told her, "It means 'blood of the traitor'. A son of someone who's betrayed us, our traditions." She frowned, and he saw her eyes spark, then darken slowly. He wondered what she was thinking, actually. "It isn't a fair word to call a man, isn't right. We say, '_Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la_.' It means, 'Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.' But even Mandalorians sometimes doubt, I know."

Kas just stood there, stiffly, angry, her fists clenched. Then she muttered, almost growled, "They insulted him. For nothing."

He understood suddenly, like light flashing, saw what it was she was so angry for. It was Lek who'd warned him, as he was bent over his worktable crafting the armor that stretched across Kastiel's chest now, back when Tarro Blood still threatened her. "_She hates him because of the old hunter, the one Tarro killed. Braden was her friend, and Tarro shot him down because of her. She'll make him pay for hurting one of her own_." She was a protector, a defender. Harm someone she considered _hers_ and she fought. Fought hard and furious.

And she'd lain claim to the warrior already. Determined enough, he thought, watching her. She'd have the man, he knew.

He considered who might deserve a warning of his _ad's_ ferocity, before she beat the one stupid enough to say something in her presence now that she knew what it was, that insult. But as he watched her turn away to face the viewing screen again, her back rigid and straight with stiff pride and determination, he smiled, rather. Let them learn for themselves how strong she was, he decided. It was Kastiel he soothed, instead.

"It won't be easy, _ad_. But remember. I trust your judgment, respect your decisions. There may be those who question that. You will not. Do you understand me?"

She looked at him, her dark eyes liquid, deep. "What's the word for 'father'?"

"_Buir_ is what we call father. Mother, too. The word is the same. There's no role more valuable in the life of a Mandalorian than that of a parent."

She nodded. "My father was strong, heroic even. He shaped me, loved me. You will never replace him, not really." Then she looked at him. "But I'll call you _buir_. Yes. I understand you."

It was an honor she offered him, a gesture of tremendous respect. He recognized it. Just as much as she recognized the blessing he'd offered her intentions. He placed one large hand against her armored shoulder, pausing. Then he turned and walked away. And she watched him go.

* * *

**Now that Kastiel is learning _mando'a_, I have a good reason to include a lot of the translations in the actual text. "_Ad_", since I didn't translate the word above, means "child or son or daughter". As the story progresses and Kastiel learns the language better, she and Torian will speak that language, to each other, exclusively. At that point, the text won't neccessarily include the _mando'a_ words themselves, even though they'll be using it. Just a heads-up.**

**The adoption process, as I described here, is nothing more than a simple statement of intention. The Mandalorians call it "_gai bal manda_" (name and soul). It involves nothing more than the Mandalorian's declaration "_ni kyr'tayla gai sa'ad_", or "I know your name as my child." That, along with the individual's adherence to the six rules of the _Resol'narre_ (the Mandalorian code), is all it takes to become a Mandalorian. These aren't a people who stand on elaborate formalities.**

**It's equally easy to lose one's Mandalorian identity, too. The individual can renounce it themselves, or it can be taken away. Exile is rare but greatly feared by most Mandalorians. Jicoln's exile to Taris would be one example.**

**_ihaar _was a clear, colorless liquour traditionally made by Mandalorians. It had a very high alcoholic content and a strong taste, burning the tongue and throat as it was consumed. Mandalorians joked that it could be used to degrease engine parts. It was typically made from whatever fruit was available, making every _tihaar_ unique as it took on the taste of whatever fruit it was made from.**

**One last note: I used information included in the SWTOR Encyclopedia to describe Bloodworthy, above.**


	55. Chapter 54 -- Scouting Taris

Taris' sun slowly slipped below the horizon, turning the sky behind the rising domes of the Republic colony a blazing span of orange and red brilliance. The canopy of towering trees glittered with the gold light of the setting sun. Torian could hear something screaming off in the distant wilds, somewhere beyond the wreck of twisted metal and stone that made up so much of the wasted ground on the planet. He sniffed, trying to discern if anymore of the Rakghouls were close enough to the colony to prove tiresome. Although if the maddened creatures were approaching, they were coming from downwind, because their stench wasn't obvious right then. But that persistent screaming was proof enough they were nearby.

Torian scanned the perimeter of the community with a discerning eye, looking for the soldiers who moved in and around the outer edges of the colony, counting them carefully. He knew they were looking for him, had been for the past three days he'd been crouched in and around the colony, watching and scouting them out. A simple task, one that he'd jumped at when Fett said it needed doing. He could hunt across the terrain, track the traitor, even as he watched and gauged the enemy below. He constantly looked for signs the traitor was nearby, was living, breathing.

Now, he shifted slowly on the rough blanket he'd thrown down against the upper edge of the rock-strewn trench, easing the strain imposed on his upper chest as he held himself up against his bent arms, sighting down the end of a long-barreled rifle.

The settlers were a varied lot, actually, composed largely of Togruta and Cathar. There were some other aliens and only a few humans. Except for the soldiers. The Republic soldiers that mostly came and went from the compound were predominantly human, with only a few aliens counted among them. They would arrive at varied times in bulky, heavy transports that brought supplies the settlers used in their fields and constructions. It was the tiny number of garrison soldiers stationed at the colony permanently that hunted for him now, so maddened they were now pressing the search into the darkening hours. Probably because Torian's rifle had managed to take the heads of two Republic officers and then a hard-nosed Cathar soldier. He'd heard the surviving soldiers calling for his own head after the attacks. Amusing, that they thought they'd manage to take it from him, he thought.

He himself used the attacks to judge the capability of the garrison to respond to a viable threat. Watching the soldiers scramble about like children playing a game of hide-and-seek against one lone Mando assured him Fett's squad would easily squash the entire colony, send the Republic _laandur_ fools who thought they could challenge such wilds fleeing back to their spaceport. He watched them, now, though, as they prepared yet another futile search to find him. He was curious why they'd choose the darkness for the effort, until he saw that it was a Cathar leading the effort.

A friend or brother, perhaps, of the soldier he'd killed before. The male was intensely resolute, at least, his feline features stiff with angry determination, Torian saw. A Cathar would be better able to move through the dark than a human, his sight at night better than Torian's own. He'd want to get close, so he'd move fast, use his retractable claws to strike out against what he'd assume was fragile human skin. Imperial snipers wore lighter armor than a Mando did, anyway. And the Cathar couldn't know yet it was a Mandalorian he was bent on hunting.

Torian breathed out slowly as he eased himself back off of the incline towards the gear he'd stored nearby, pulling the rifle around so that he could break it down into its varied parts and store it away in his pack. Instead, he hefted his preferred weapon, clutching the electrostaff close as he moved slowly, almost melting a course around the various ruins and brush that surrounded the colony's perimeter.

He could hear the troopers moving through the area, stamping and grunting as they went along. Every so often the Cathar would hiss at them for silence. Torian only shook his head, as he approached the wide trunk of a massive tree, its branches lifting high into the dark nighttime sky. He stopped there, soundless, concentrating on the movement of his enemies nearby.

The men were whispering to each other, not realizing their voices carried so easily through the dense underbrush. "Damn Imp bastard … wish he'd get chewed on by a Rakghoul."

"Better than trudging through this shit of a planet in the dark, yea. But with our luck, we'll be the ones that run into a Rakghoul."

A third man grunted, then. "Rather fight an Imp to be honest. Rakghouls scare the piss out of me. Mindless beasts that used to be men … gives me the willies."

"Yea but a Rakghoul cain't use a blade or blaster to kill you."

"Cause claws are better?"

The last speaker's voice came from nearby, the behind the same tree where Torian was hunkered. That man stepped around the bend of the tree, snorting in disgust at the thought of being clawed to death and stopped hard, shocked. Torian actually smiled at the look of surprise on his face as he regarded the Mandalorian standing there. Torian whispered to him, "Dead." Torian's hand shot out, swinging his blade in an arcing motion against the soldier's vulnerable neck, just above his armored vest. The blade almost sang as it perforated the soft flesh under the man's chin, releasing a cascade of blood to stream down his front. Torian watched his eyes go wide with surprised dismay as he tried desperately to draw air into his lungs through the gurgling mess of what was left of his throat.

"What? Tooms, what are you doing over there? This isn't the time to take a piss, you know. Tooms?"

Torian grabbed the front of the man's armor, gripping him hard so that his hands didn't slide against the blood all over the man's armored chest. He pushed him forward and around the tree, propelling him like he would a battering ram. Then he released him, pushing him hard towards his fellows. The dead man flew towards his companions, one of them yelling out, "What the fuck …?" Then there were shouts and several groans as the bloody corpse hit them, so that the entire group fell down onto the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and increasing gore.

Torian stepped closer, placing his hard booted foot against the dead man's back and pressing forward, leaning his full weight against the pile of soldiers enough that the two who lived were effectively pinned in place. He stared down at them, saw them glaring back at him. "Where is the other one? The Cathar?"

"Fuck you!"

"Not interested in that, actually. Not with you, at least. Tell me."

The smaller of the men was starting to gasp under the weight pressing on his chest. He grunted, "You're no Imp."

"Good. We're making progress."

"He'll kill you!"

"We'll see. Once I meet him."

Torian glanced around, eyeing the darkness. He leaned forward again, pressing harder against the men. He heard the snap of one man's ribs under the pressure, listened as he squealed from the pain. The other one began grunting and panting as his ability to breathe became constrained. Torian just cocked his head, listening, straining to hear something from out of the dark, using the men's pain to draw out the last one of his enemies.

The men at his feet were gibbering by the time Torian heard it, discerned the subtle scrape of claws against stone, followed by the movement of the Cathar as he rushed from around a pile of weathered rubble to rush towards them, snarling. But Torian fired his jetpack and jumped high and out of his reach, landing with significant force on the back of the dead soldier, hard enough to break the corpse's spinal column with a loud snap of sound. The Cathar stumbled as his target suddenly disappeared, but he pulled himself back from running face first into the tree.

Torian's jetpack-fueled leap was powerful, squashing even further the two men under him. The slighter soldier screamed out one more time, just as his diaphragm was compressed enough to smother his beating heart. The man died fast. The other one yelped an agonized call, one that was cut off suddenly when Torian's staff whipped down to crack hard against the side of his head, crushing his skull in a single, solid motion.

"You're Mandalorian! Bastard! I'm going to enjoy killing you. Especially now!"

Torian calmly regarded the Cathar, watching his eyes even as the man's furred face twisted into a hate-filled visage. The feline darted to the left, a feinting motion, but Torian was already responding to his real direction. The Cathar seemed almost to run into Torian's swinging staff as he jumped straight towards the Mandalorian. The electric ends of the staff blared suddenly, sparking light enough to brighten the scene in a brilliant blue wash of color for one long moment. A Cathar scream filled the air, then, as the electricity broiled through the man's body, leaving him twitching there on the ground.

Torian yelled out, "_Kyrayc_!" He raised his hand high, his blade clutched hard. The Cathar snarled a mean yelp of sound as he looked up, in time to see the glint of the metal as the knife-edged weapon flew down, hard. Torian's blade pierced the Cathar's abdomen, sliding through muscle and flesh until the merest tip met the soil behind his back.

The Cathar grunted, snarling. He snapped up with his fangs, baring the blood-stained edges of his teeth. But Torian pulled his head back and out of reach. He knelt there, over the Cathar's dying body, watching the pain that filled his face. The Cathar snarled again, spitting out the blood filling his mouth, "I hate you! You and your friend!"

Torian grunted softly. "Out here alone, cat."

"You lie! I saw the other one myself, skirting the edges of the fields only four days ago. Hunted him. It's why I wasn't here when you shot Yirry in the face!" The Cathar coughed up some more blood. Torian climbed to his feet, frowning down at him. The Cathar suddenly smiled, "Or did your friend die, too? Killed by a Rakghoul maybe? Poetic justice, hmm?"

Torian knelt down, placing a single finger against the blunt end of the dagger's hilt that still protruded from the Cathar's stomach. He slowly pressed down, before shifting the knife forward … then back again. The pull and drag of the blade against his tender, bleeding flesh speared the Cathar with renewed agony, and he screamed, the cries ringing out through the darkness.

Torian cocked his head, regarding the pained figure in front of him. "Describe the Mandalorian you hunted."

"What? No! Stop! Don't do that again!" The Cathar almost whimpered when Torian touched the dagger's hilt again. Torian stopped, staring at him with his finger frozen in place. "Not … he's not your friend? Okay! Just don't! He was … big, bigger than you. Hair on his face, his chin. Some … paint across his eyes. Armor … Mandalorian armor, it's how I knew what he was. Green armor, blended in well. Brown … brown eyes. Brown. Like _your_ eyes. Who is he?"

Torian ignored the question. "Where did you track him?"

"East! East of here, I swear. There's a transport station near there. Full of Rakghouls. You'd know it. Lost the tracks around a pool full of contaminated water, started hiking back."

"He was alone? No team?"

"No. No one I saw. Until you tonight."

Torian grunted. "He's not Mandalorian."

"He wears armor like you do."

Torian yanked the dagger free of the Cathar's belly, listening to the scream that echoed through the space. He shook his head down at the desperately bleeding feline, who was coughing and gagging against the blood now pooling in his mouth. "He's _dar'manda_. Traitor. And he'll be as dead as you soon enough."

The Cathar didn't even grunt when Torian plunged the dagger into his heart, ending it.

* * *

**Just a few Mando'a words this time around:**

**___Laandur_ - delicate, fragile, or, as an insult, to mean weak or pathetic. Do NOT call a Mandalorian woman by this word.**

**_Kyrayc_ - killed, dead**

**___Dar'manda _- Not Mandalorian; not an outsider but one who's lost their heritage or had it stripped from them, thus losing their identity and even soul, unable to reach the _Manda_, the Mandalorian version of Heaven. Soulless, basically. Regarded with absolute dread by traditional Mandalorians.**


	56. Chapter 55 -- A Father Failed

_I failed you, Kastiel. Really, I failed you pretty much in the making of you. I knew better, anyway. Better than to take something so precious as Tamerie when I could never give her everything she deserved, every bit of honor and care and respect she was worthy of. I couldn't even give her my name!_

_But I never wanted anything more than to be loved the way Tamerie loved me, either. And maybe that's why, when I knew I should, I still kept her close. Because I should have sent her to some far off world, Kas, my little joy. I knew it, when Karen was screaming at me to destroy you, knew I should send Tamerie away, let you grow up somewhere safe, whole. You would've been happy, even._

_But I told myself you needed me, that you'd be better off knowing me and how much I adore you. You and your mother. Then your brother and sister came, too, all of you so beautiful, so perfect. And it was so much harder to give you up, no matter how often I told myself I should. I told myself whatever I had to, in order to justify keeping you, holding all of you._

_Oh, Kas! To see your eyes light up whenever I came home to you … I would tell myself it was worth it, that the risk was justified. But I was only being selfish. __Gods, it's not like there's ever been anything here for you! The Empire's rules are so simple, so neat. There's security won through them, and I believe in that. But I know, too, that defiance never ends well for those foolish enough to break the rules. I imagined some far off day when you, and Gaibriel, and Camiel would find someplace better for you, somewhere you'd be safe, secure. Somewhere you'd be happy. _

_But now ... well, now that's never going to happen, is it? Or at least not so that I can see it, know it. She's destroyed everything. Everything ..._

_You're the daughter of an Imperial officer, Kastiel, one who's renowned, accolades galore. I fought hard for our Empire. Remember that, remember me. That no matter what anyone says to you, you are _my_daughter, and you've always had worth and value. Remember that I loved you so much I couldn't bear to lose you. __And forgive me. For being that selfish, too. Because today you paid the price for my greed. No child should ever have to suffer for the sins of the father, but you did, you suffered because I failed, because I wasn't strong enough. I'm so sorry, my joy. So damn sorry. You deserved better, you always did. Don't forget that._

_I love you, Kas._

-Recorded Message; left in care of Tobies Moor; from Colonel Lucian Phyre, commanding medical officer of the battlecruiser Darkness (deceased); to his daughter (acknowledged), Kastiel Shorn, registered child of Tamerie Shorn (deceased). Note: accompanying recordings included, in care of Tobies Moor.

* * *

The lake of toxic water sent a mist that drifted across the garrison, leaving behind a nasty film on most of the Imperial equipment, there. As well as a steady, noxious stench that had worked over the past weeks to send an ever-increasing number of soldiers reeling into the medical bay hidden behind the thick door of Darth Gravis' headquarters.

The Imperial soldiers tried taunting their Mandalorian allies, when they set the Mando camp outside the headquarters, insisting they weren't worth enough but to suffer the stench and muck of the toxic pools outside of the shelter of the buildings and mocking them unmercifully. It didn't work. Instead, the Mandalorians set their cooking area as close to the headquarters' doorway as they could, so that the smells of spicy _tingular_ and _gi_ dumpling soup wafted across the pathway of every single green-faced soldier stumbling by them, leaving the pitiful creatures to stop and retch as they shuffled by. After several weeks, Imperial officers began asking that the Mandalorian camp be moved further away from the garrison. Which was precisely what the Mandalorians had intended all along, of course.

Vorten Fett could hear several gagging sounds peeling across the camp even now, as the dawning sun began rising over the misty green … could it really be called water, he wondered? He shook his head as he looked out across the spillage, calling it what it really was. "Green _shit_," he mumbled, as he moved to duck back inside of the tent where they'd erected an effective holoterminal. The whir of shuttle engines caught his attention, though, and he lifted his head to scan the line of trees that somehow persisted nearby despite the green waste that pooled across the terrain.

Fett grunted towards one nearby Mando, "Kurt, a shuttle? Not scheduled, that I know of."

Kurt groaned his response. "Someone important, they said. The Sith, even, are all wound up over this one. One of their lords, I think."

Fett curled his lip as he moved towards the gathering crowd of Mandalorians standing near the wide, yawning ramp that loomed over the platform where the shuttle was landing. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the door of the shuttle slowly rose open. Murmurs trickled through the group of toughened warriors as an incredibly slight figure seemed almost to leap out of the shuttle.

Fett's eyebrows shot high as he stood there, regarding the red-skinned Sith Pureblood standing there, holding a tiny hand just under her nose. He marveled at her figure, so petite she almost seemed to be a wisp, just a tiny ghost of a thing standing there. Her eyes were a dark amber color, almond-shaped above a small button of a nose set straight above soft, narrow lips, set there in a deep red face, almost burgundy, like a rich wine from Alderaan almost. All framed by dark black hair cropped short so that its ends just brushed against her sharp jaw.

Ripples of laughter sounded when the Mandalorians heard the small Sith grumbling about the stench. "Well, this is turning out to be a stinking wreck of a world, gods." Fett smiled as the tiny female turned her dark-haired head to glare back towards the shuttle. "Nikos! Come on, stop playing with that skinny devil and get out here."

"I am _not_ playing with him, Sith! No, I'm going to kill him! Just watch me. I know you'll enjoy the show." Fett grunted when he saw the man emerging from the shuttle. Andronikus Revel was somewhat familiar to him, at least enough to recogonize the pirate when he spied him. The man had, luckily for him, never attacked a Mandalorian vessel, although the Imperials had put his name on several bounty lists over the years. He made a mental note to advise his warriors to leave the pirate be, at least until he verified his status. Considering the company he was keeping, anyway.

"Yea, can't wait to see you try it, you prig of a pirate! Hey, weren't you an accountant at one time? Is that where you got your sense of humor?" The Devaronian who followed after the human was even more familiar to Fett, though. He'd been privileged enough to see _that_ man on holo, his rifle spitting a steady stream of bolts towards anyone foolish enough to try and hamper the Champion's sabotage of the _Aurora's_ engines.

Fett strained to see, to find her, then. And that's when she jumped out of the shuttle, landing solidly enough on the rough metal surface of the platform to send a pinging thud sounding out through the muggy mist-filled air. She sniffed as she looked around, wiping her hands against her armored thighs as she eyed the nearby surface of the toxic lake balefully, before demanding loudly, "What fucking idiot decided to build a garrison in the middle of that shit? Or it is bad that the first thought that crosses my mind is something like, 'Has to be Imperial.' Gods!"

Revel looked over at them, finally, when a few of the Mandalorians laughed. He glared when several of the warriors, there, called back to him about the bounties on his head. The Sith patted a small, red hand against his shoulder, "Ignore the rabble, Nikos. Not worth the hassle."

Kastiel was now eyeing the pirate with a calculating regard, though. "Bounties? You didn't say anything about bounties on the pirate, Gault. All you did was make fun of his hair."

"Hey, don't look at me! Didn't realize the idiot had gotten in as much trouble with the Imps as he did the Republic, believe me. And all I said was that his hair was cut into a pretty pattern there on his head. Don't you think so?"

The Sith stepped easily in front of the pirate suddenly. Fett thought it was nearly funny the way the big man stumbled to a halt so that he didn't run right over the little female, rather than continue his angry leap at the Devaronian who was still smirking over at him. But the Sith was firm, determined in her stance, now. She stood there, her back to the pirate while she faced the bounty hunter. "Are you threatening _my_ pirate, then?"

Fett heard several intakes of breath from the warriors gathered around him. He understood how they felt, too. A _darjetii_ was nothing to sneer at, not when it came to a fight. Fighting force-users was something all Mandalorians trained for, planned for, anyway. But it was rare their skills were truly put to the test. And none but Fett had seen this particular Mandalorian fight someone so skilled. He wondered how she'd manage against a Sith rather than a Jedi, though.

But the bounty hunter just leaned back, her dark eyes amused as she took in the spitting red kitten of a Sith standing there in front of her with clenched fists. "_Your_ pirate, huh? What, did you stencil your name on his butt cheek? Wait, no! Don't show me! I might really puke if I have to look at his naked ass, on top of smelling this place."

The little Sith stopped glaring. Fett could swear she was trying hard not to laugh. The Mandoes barked out several rumbled sounds of admiration at their Champion's temerity, her fearlessness in the face of a Sith's dark power. Even Fett was grunting happily as he stood there, watching her. The Pureblood glanced towards their crowd of Mandalorians, gauging their numbers up against the bitter rage she could feel coming from Andronikus, behind her. She finally raised her little chin, pointedly. "You may wish to join your gang while I calm down _my_ pirate, yes. Don't threaten him."

Kastiel shrugged, tapping one finger against her own blaster, never once looking towards the nearby group of Mandalorian warriors. She protected her own, after all. "Sounds good. Because when pirates start saying they're going to kill friends of mine … well, I just get testy."

The Sith nodded her black-haired head. "So we understand each other."

"Maybe. We'll see." Kastiel tapped Gault on the shoulder as she stepped away from the platform, heading towards the Mandalorian camp. She left the Sith staring after her, looking slightly stunned at the sheer verve the hunter displayed so easily. Fett was pleased, leaning to his side to whisper towards Kurt, "She shows them what it is to be Mandalorian." Kurt groaned slightly, not even looking away from the hunter as she approached them. Fett just shook his head at the near-worship that marked Kurt's face, until it looked like he was almost drooling by the time the Champion had reached them.

"_Su_ _cuy'gar_, _vod_. I'm curious what brings Mandalore's _ad_ to my camp." Fett called out the greeting, waving towards Kastiel. She glanced at him, looking curiously at the implants that replaced his right eye, taken by a particularly vicious opponent in the gladitorial rings on Geonosis who'd thought that throwing acidic fire in his face was a good idea. He'd paid the price for the misconception, when Fett used his _beskad_ to slice the man's gut wide open.

"Hunting, actually." Kastiel suddenly noticed Jogo, standing towards the rear of the group. She started looking around, scanning the camp with a piercing look in her dark brown eyes. Fett frowned at her, suddenly intent. Only one target on Taris would be worthy of the attention from a new Champion of the Great Hunt. And that target's son had only recently gone missing.

Kurt was muttering, "Only Rakghouls on this stinking heap of a world. Maybe some nekku. What are you hunting?"

But Fett interrupted them, quickly. "Come with me. We'll talk of your hunt."

A few of the Mandalorians scowled as Kastiel followed along behind Fett, along with Gault, all of them moving towards the privacy of his command space, ducking under the flaps of the tent and disappearing. Not that Kastiel seemed to notice the angst that persisted all around her. And Gault just grinned at the disappointed puppy-dog looks the tough warriors tossed at her.

"You're looking for the traitor. Likely that he's dead, you know. This planet is a wasteland, infested with crazed beasts that used to be men. Doubtful even Jicoln Cadera could've lasted so long, here." Fett rested one lean hip against the edge of the holoterminal behind him, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at her. "But I can't have my Mandalorians, a thousand strong, tramping around looking for a ghost of a traitor, either."

"Bloodworthy is certain he's still alive."

"Maybe. Wouldn't put it past the traitor. He fought fiercely against Mandalore. Unfortunate, since they were friends before then. Made the fight that much uglier."

Kastiel frowned as she regarded him. "Bloodworthy told me he raised an army against Mandalore. Do you know why?"

"No. Just know Mandalore hated Jicoln after. The Cadera clan paid the price for Jicoln's betrayal. Mostly children lived. The rest are dead. Or hiding, like the traitor himself."

"Children? Like Torian?"

Fett's gaze sharpened at the familiarity implicit in her tone, remembering the rumors that had followed Torian to Taris. He'd actually hesitated to bring the warrior to the planet, suspecting the impulse driving at him. But he'd not been able to deny him the chance, either. Not with Jogo's taunts of Torian's supposed unworthiness to lay a finger against the Champion's face ringing in their ears. Torian had the right to fight, or hunt, wherever and whenever he wished. "Yes, like Torian. A strong warrior, capable. I liked him."

Kastiel shifted her stance, silent for a moment. Gault tensed, though, frowning towards Fett, who stared back at him, curious. "You speak in the past tense. Where is he?" She spoke with the sheer, piercing determination, so that the question became more of a demand. He wondered what she'd do if he indicated he'd done something to the man. Or, better. What would she do to anyone who'd actually dared lay a hand on him, if that's why he'd disappeared.

Poor Jogo, he thought suddenly. Once again, Torian had proved himself, had done what no other Mandalorian had yet managed. He'd neatly caught the attention of Mandalore's own _ad_. It actually soothed much of Fett's own concern, because no commander liked losing one of his men. Much better to think that his warrior was only hunting, rather than taken. And looking at Kastiel, at the worry tightening her features, he decided that Torian had a rather good reason to go hunting.

Still, he tightened his lips, his worry an obvious thing. He glanced towards the holoterminal, where the reports continued blinking at him. "I don't know. His last transmission came in yesterday morning, describing a potential target, He was scouting one of the Republic colonies nearby, one with a garrison in place. Was going to send some fighters there today, root out the soldiers there and leave the colony to collapse. He should've returned by now."

Gault pulled out a datapad, recording the coordinates that Fett offered to him. Kastiel only glanced at the map Gault pulled up on the pad for her, nodding. "Do you think they've harmed him?"

Fett leaned back, shaking his head. "I don't know. Curious what you'd do if you found out they did, though. There's good bounty for the hunters who take out that garrison, by the way. Which was why I was offering it to my warriors."

She didn't respond, just turned around to leave. He heard Gault muttering as he followed her, rather, "They might find pieces, you never know."

* * *

Kastiel bent to one knee, her gaze skimming along the torn grass and brush there in the clearing. Gault looked up, scanning to the very top of the tree that loomed over the area, his mouth hanging open. "Don't think I've ever seen a taller tree, even on Devaron, Kas. Thing's huge! You'd think the bombardment would've destroyed it."

Kas didn't even glance up from her perusal of the ground. "Thing's probably three hundred years old. Which only goes to show you, planets are tougher than the people who try to destroy them."

"Yea, well. I'd bet real money someone, somewhere will eventually come up with the means to really destroy an entire planet. Blast it to smithareens!"

"I hope I'm dead by the time you win that bet, Gault."

Gault snorted. "Heh, I wouldn't worry. No one's crazy enough to pull a stunt like that."

"Just don't bet your money on _that_ assumption. That one you'd probably lose." Kas came back to her feet, glaring off in the direction of the Republic colony. She could see the edges of their fields through the tree line, even if the buildings themselves were far enough off she couldn't really discern them. "There was a fight, here. Hard to tell, though, which direction the winner went towards. Seems like a better tracker than me, at least."

Gault looked down at the dirt and grass covering the ground, wonderingly. "How can you tell there was a fight?"

"Mostly the crushed grass and dried blood." Kastiel crept closer to the tree line, moving slowly and ignoring Gault's mutterings about "dried blood no one else can see". Gault almost huddled behind her as she regarded the nearby colony, frowning. He shifted on the balls of his feet, carefully checking the power charges on his rifle. And he kept his voice low, respecting the hunter's increasing caution.

"You think they have him?"

Kastiel was quiet for a long moment. "Not really. I think he killed some of _them_, rather. But they're probably tracking him now. So they'll have a better idea of his direction. Besides." She shot Gault a wicked grin, her lips twisting. "Fett said there's a bounty on that garrison down there. And we could use the credits, don't you think?"

He grunted as Kas darted forward into the nearest field, keeping her head low as she moved quickly through the rows of plants and growing vegetables. He tried motioning for caution, until Kastiel's missiles began flying towards the various droids the colonists had put into the fields. "Crazy-assed hunter! Trying to bring the lot of them running for us? Sheesh!"

"Oh, do you want to go chasing all over these fields looking for the colonists, then? Hey, be my guest!" Kastiel gestured towards the empty air in dramatic fashion. Gault glared at her sullenly as smoke billowed from the wreckage behind her. She just smirked as she spun around and rushed forward again. Gault tumbled after her, mumbling angrily, his rifle raised up as he fired steadily at the droid targets that continued to block their progress forward.

Shouts began sounding, wild yells from the colonists that rushed in from the surrounding fields. The men rushed forward, surrounding their women and children as if to make a living barrier. Kastiel ignored them utterly as she rose up over the smoking heap of yet another droid. She focused, rather, on the three soldiers who came running out of the garrison building itself, their weapons held up despite their muttered curses and shaking hands.

Gault went down to a knee, taking a nebulous bit of concealment behind a small bush. His rifle spit one single bolt, the sound loud in the clear air. The officer in the lead of the men spluttered an angry sound as the bolt struck him in the stomach, spinning him around. He collapsed onto the ground, his hands held hard against the blood streaming from his abdomen. He yelled out angrily as the other soldiers screamed fearfully, throwing their weapons down as they turned around to run.

Kastiel's first shot took one of the soldiers in the back, hitting him against his right shoulder and causing him to stumble forward against one hard wall. He began screaming, agonized, the shrill cries peeling through the air. She fired again, aiming at the second soldier. She breathed out roughly when the bolt struck the back of that man's skull, turning his head into a mist of bloody gore.

Gault was standing over the officer by now, his rifle pointed down towards his face, shaking his head as the man continued bleeding all over himself. He glanced up as Kastiel stalked past them towards the screaming soldier lying against the wall. The blaster bolt she put in his head, then, didn't really stop the cacophony, though. Only because the colonists took up the racket, all of them shouting and yelling at her, their maddened cries sounding terrified as they watched the soldiers destroyed within precious few minutes.

Kastiel finally yelled at them. "Shut up! All of you! Now!" She gently bumped her blaster's barrel against the very top of her leg armor as she waited for them to calm down, causing a steady, rhythmic tapping sound that was eventually only interspersed by the slow tears of some of the more panicked members of the colony. She finally motioned towards one of the men, who stepped closer, stumbling away from the rest of the group with his hands help up in desperate appeal.

"Please! We didn't do anything! I swear! Just … don't kill us!"

Kastiel snorted at him. "I'm looking for someone. A Mandalorian named Torian. Do you have him?"

"Uhh …" The human stammered, his eyes confused and uncertain. Kas sighed as she watched him look back over his shoulder at the rest of the colonists. "Any of you know what she's talking about? Please, let us help Captain Riss. He's bleeding!"

The bleeding officer – she assumed he was the forenamed Captain Riss – glared over at her, his skin blanched of blood. He was dying, he knew. He hoped to do just one more thing with the last of his life, buy just a little more time, a little more life for these people. Damn Taris! A waste of a world! Wasn't even Imperials who'd destroyed him, destroyed his command – just a sorry bunch of mercenary bastards!

He almost spit out the words. "They don't know anything, damn you! Just a bunch of civilians. I'll answer your questions, and you let them go. All right?"

Murmurs went through the group as Kastiel moved to stand over the felled officer, glancing at the wound on his stomach. She leaned over, carefully easing his hand away from the wound to regard the damage. She sighed, before applying a stim to his side that would help ease the pain he was certainly enduring. "No promises, captain. I need to hear what you have to say, first. Don't lie to me. Prove you're worthless, and the next thing I poke you with will cause you so much pain, your heart will just give out from the stress of it."

He looked at her, feeling the coolness of the pain medication easing through his system. He glanced back at the colonists, saw them watching him. The slim twi'lek who'd tried flirting with him several days ago was crying, tears trekking down her dirty, pale blue cheeks. He should've taken her up on the offer, should've at least kissed her. Damn it. The hunter leaned forward, then, intent, determined. She repeated, "His name is Torian. Where is he?"

He breathed out, tired, feeling like he was falling asleep. "Haven't seen any Mandalorians. But we suffered a series of sniper attacks during the last week. Three of my men were killed, including two of my younger officers. Good men, damn you! I sent out a team to catch the sniper, they went out two nights ago. Found their bodies on the edge of the fields, just to the east." He coughed, feeling blood against the back of his throat. He jerked his gaze back to her face, snarling his last words. "If he went east, he's done for. That area is teeming with Rakghouls, crazed monsters that rip a man to shreds! But we didn't do anything to him, I swear! Now, let these people go."

Kastiel stood up, her dark eyes cold and hard. "Don't care what they do. I'm done here." She spun around, stalking away from the bleeding figure. Gault glanced back one time as he ambled behind her, watched as a small twi'lek rushed forward to catch the dying man's head against her lap. She called out his name as she held onto him. But Kas just walked away, heading east.

* * *

**_darjetii_ - Sith**

**_ad_ - child or son or daughter**

**_beskad_ - slightly curved saber made of Mandalorian iron**


	57. Chapter 56 -- Men!

Mako stared up at the holographic image, her lips twisting into a semblance of a grin as she took in his disgruntled expression, there. "Don't know what you want me to say, Gaibriel. She's a bounty hunter. It's a simple fact, that hunters rack up enemies as they go about their work."

He shook his head. "Enemies is one thing. There's rumors the Jedi Council is considering action against her, now, Mako. What the hell made you guys go off and kill a Jedi Master and then blow up the Republic ship he was on?"

She only shrugged one slim shoulder. "If it helps, he managed to knock her on her ass before she shot him full of holes. First time I know of that she was actually startled, even. What's the odds that will make those Jedi guys feel better?"

"This isn't a joke, Mako."

She scowled, then. "Fine, then. Bottom line, we don't work for the Republic. We had a job, the specifics of which included that particular Jedi Master dead and the ship he was on destroyed. Kas held to the letter of the task – she even communicated her intentions to the crew so that they'd be able to evacuate before the ship blew up. I honestly don't know what else you'd like me to say."

"Who hired you for the job? Maybe if the buyers' identity was exposed …"

Mako's breath exploded with a bitter expletive. "Now who's joking around, here? Look, maybe you don't know how this works, but going around publicly exposing your clients is a surefire way to ensure you don't get anymore clients. Do you go airing the dirty laundry of the people you do business with, Captain Gabriel Duncan? Hell, do you even go around airing your own dirty laundry? Where did you come up with the name Duncan, anyway? Ashamed of your daddy?"

"Shut up, Mako! Damn it!"

She pursed her lips into a cool, easy smile. "My point's made, though, isn't it? We all have secrets, things that can't be discussed, not publicly, not ever. Not like she goes telling too many of the people she works with about you, for instance. You think you have it tough, with a sister doing bounty work with scruffy clients of nebulous origin? Not too many of them would be happy with her if they knew how often her damn brother visited Coruscant, you know."

Gaibriel shook his dark head, looking woebegone all of a sudden, wistful, maybe scared. Mako realized there was real concern driving at him, eating at him like a terrible thing. Not for the first time, she wondered what had happened to him during those years he was lost. Where did he go, how did he make do, how did he eat, even? It wasn't something he discussed, at least not with her. She'd asked Corso, once, but he'd just gotten the saddest look on his face, saying only, "Not sure how the captain made it through in one piece, honestly. But it was bad, Mako. Just leave it at that."

Mako shook herself, now, as she looked at Gaibriel's holoimage. "What's the matter? Talk to me. Something's got you all wound up."

He sighed heavily, almost groaning. "Not something I can really put my finger on. More of a feeling, really. There's been some fingers poking around, some whispers here and there. Some people asking questions, trying to find out who did what to the Aurora, and why. None of it, like you said, even unusual for someone in that sort of business, so I didn't pay it much attention, not really. But … Gods, I don't know." He appeared pensive, thinking. Like he was brooding over a sore tooth, maybe. Then she heard him mumble, "Why can't anything be easy? Just once!"

Mako grinned, then. "You two are a lot alike, you know. Look alike, too. Especially when you're worrying about each other. Although you could be a mirror copy of Khyriel. Only your eyes are different." She cocked her head as she looked at him, examined the blue of his eyes, so vividly dark blue, like the deepest blue of an ocean maybe. "Makes me wish I knew what your father looked like."

He frowned at her. He'd given only minor thought to his siblings by his father's wife. Kastiel had spoken of them, told him what she knew. She seemed far more familiar with Khyriel than with their sister, Lusiel. Not surprising, she'd said as she shrugged, explaining, "Lusiel is Sith. No one really understands the Sith. Sometimes I think even the Sith don't understand the Sith."

"I have my mother's eyes. I was the only one, too. Kastiel has eyes like our father. But I never saw Khyriel, wouldn't be able to say one way or another." He rolled his shoulders in a thoughtful pose. He was thinking of Lusiel, actually, that she was Sith. Sith were force-users, powerful ones. But … Force abilities ran in families, didn't they? They'd had an uncle with Force ability, too, another Sith. His mind swam. "Mako, I just have a real bad feeling, is all. Where's Kas? Why isn't she with you?"

Mako shrugged. "She's with Gault. They're hunting."

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, watched her casually brush some nonexistent lint off of her shoulder. "She's taken on a target _now_? You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's not just eye color we inherited from our parents. Did Kas ever tell you our father helped sack Coruscant? Reckless, I'm telling you."

"Kas isn't reckless." He just stared at her. Mako finally shrugged. "Well … not _too_ reckless. There's other Mandalorians down there, anyway."

"_Other_ Mandalorians?"

Mako smiled wickedly. "Oh, yea. Forgot to tell you. Kas was adopted by Mandalore! Exciting, huh?"

* * *

Torian grunted softly as he climbed into the higher reaches of the tree, pulling himself hand-over-hand using a slender length of fibra-rope to scale his way towards the dew collector. The machine was perched solidly against one thick branch, with three separate cables securing it in place.

From below, it looked like nothing more than a piece of rubbish that had fallen down from one of the wrecked buildings that leaned precariously above the expanse. But it was deliberately placed high up, to keep it from the reach of the maddened beasts below. He'd examined three separate collectors for their age, determining how long they'd been in the trees, until he'd maneuvered steadily in a neat circle around a nearby transport station.

He reached the newest dew collector, securing himself to the tree before leaning over to examine the machines components. The thing was obviously put together using scraps from the piles of rubble and devastated wrecks scattered throughout the area. He could see ancient markings from some long-obsolete company that apparently put together box-like vending machines, even. But he was most interested in discerning how much water had gathered together in the collector, trying to determine how long before the device's creator returned for the consumable water.

He sighed as he looked into the near brimming container, at the cool blue of the water there. The transport station loomed just beyond the line of his sight, and he sat there, looking across the treetops towards the place.

A large group of Rakghouls was milling about just outside the entrance of the station. Not for the first time, he wondered why the things didn't fight and attack each other, as much as they ripped against any creature that came close to them. But so many Rakghouls outside the station as they were, there, still indicated an even larger number were inside. Too bad that that was only entrance still accessible from the outside he'd managed to locate. The traitor certainly knew of another. There was no real reason for him to place the dew collectors where he'd have to fight through packs of Rakghouls to reach, otherwise.

The traitor would be counting on the Rakghouls to deter hunters from approaching. He'd not anticipate anyone with gall enough to fight his way through the throng of aggressive threat to reach him. But Torian was more than determined enough. This was a fight, an obligation that he'd prepared for almost the entirety of his life, that his mother had offered up to him with her own blood. He would not lose, had too much to gain. A future that he wanted. Wanted more than he wanted breath, more than respect. More than anything.

He snorted softly as he contemplated the materials he'd need to gather together in order to compel his way through the station to find Jicoln. He loosened the rope tied around his waist as he prepared to descend from his position high in the tree, looking down towards the ground. He moved slowly, inching downward out of the tree. And that's when he saw a flash, a glinting reflection off something metallic from the underbrush nearby.

He huffed a small breath, leaning low to try and catch sight of whoever it was that was moving below him on the ground. Stupid Republic soldiers probably, he thought derisively. The deaths of the last team they'd sent hadn't proven deterrent enough, it seemed. Then he caught sight of the man's red skin, a flash of white teeth in a grinning face. Oh, and the horns that screamed out Devaronian, of course, one of them broken off low and near his skull, with cracked, jagged edges he was right then rubbing against nervously.

Torian breathed in, slowly, to prevent the gasp that wanted to escape him. His golden eyes darted, looking, searching. Where was she, because that particular Devaronian wouldn't be far from the object of so many of Torian's own fantasies these past weeks. Her image drifted through his mind again, and he huffed softly, trying to keep as still and silent as possible. Even though thoughts of her remained the surest way of distracting him from the tasks he set himself to, too, and that no matter how often he reminded himself to focus.

"You know, with our luck, some ugly Rakghoul-y thing will come bursting out of the woodline to try and chew my face off." Gault was talking, looking down towards the ground in front of him, so that he never saw Torian perched in the branches of the tree up above them. It also ensured Torian knew where Kastiel herself was located. "I mean, it's going to be dark soon. I know why you're intent enough that we're still out here mucking around in the dirt. But seriously, Kas. We should find safe shelter soon."

"He's nearby." Kastiel stood up, and Torian's breath caught. Her black hair drifted against her jaw, neatly obscuring the implants tucked in her ears that allowed her to hear. He remembered how the blood had streamed from those ears, the way she'd clutched at them, biting back her tears against the terrible pain of the injury. He wished he could tuck her hair behind her ears, pull the lobes between his teeth and suckle at them, give her memories of pleasure to replace those of pain.

She was looking around, her dark eyes scanning the area carefully. She breathed in, slow and methodical, like she was trying to find something by scent. But it was more a reaching out with every one of her senses, trying to find him. She could just _feel_ him nearby. But where?

"Well, then. Maybe something Rakghoul-y will chew _his_ face off, instead. I know I'd be happier that way." Gault chuckled softly.

Kastiel glanced back at him, smiling wryly. "As if your face doesn't need some improving, Gault. Would certainly match the broken-horn look you have going, at least."

"Hey, no need to get personal, now. You know you appreciate my manly good looks." He just smiled, totally unbothered by Kastiel's derisive snort. "Well, you might pretend to, at least. Come on, Kas! Throw me a bone!"

Kastiel regarded him, then, sliding her gaze up and down his frame. She eventually shook her head. "Okay, then. I like how you shoot your rifle. You're good under fire."

Gault harrumphed. "That isn't a consideration of my good looks! It's just an appraisal of my skills, as usual. You, girl, are impossible!"

"Hah, you know you love me. Don't lie."

"But you don't love me _back_, Kas. No, you just leave me bereft, pining from my unrequited adoration of your charms."

"Charms, my ass." Kastiel shook her head, chuckling as she went back to perusing the ground in front of her. Gault sighed as he followed her, still wondering what could possibly be discerned from looking so intently at the dirt.

"Just because you don't recognize your quite magnificent assets, Kas, doesn't mean the rest of us are that blind. Hey, I'd gladly point them out, if you want me to."

"Touch me, and lose a finger, Gault. I mean it." The seriousness of the threat was lost in Kastiel's amused tone. That she was laughing at him was obvious. He sighed loudly, clutching against his chest with a flourish, pretending to be devastated.

"Shot down again! I'm beginning to think it was better when you shot me in my ass. At least then I knew you noticed it!"

Above them, Torian slowly blinked. His eyes gleamed with warm satisfaction, while a lazy smile eased across his lips. Definitely not lovers, then. More like very close friends. She regarded the Devaronian like he might Corridan or Dev, maybe. Easier, then, to garner her attention, if he didn't have to shake it loose from Gault Rennow. His utter exhilaration was heady, that Gault hadn't touched her, known her like that. It pulsed through him, sent yet another thrill of desire along his spine.

She bent down again, to consider the base of a nearby tree, so that the curves of her ass stretched the fabric of her trousers, and he suddenly hardened into stiff readiness. Torian bit his lip to keep from groaning, mentally castigating his body for its lack of control.

"Someone's cut into this tree, Gault."

Torian's attention snapped back towards the pair below, and he frowned. It wasn't only dew collectors the traitor had set around the area. He eased himself around the trunk of the tree where he'd been hunkered, reaching towards a lower branch with one booted foot as he slowly climbed down from his perch. He reached the ground silently enough, but he saw Kastiel's head dart up regardless of the care he took.

He smiled to himself, noting the sharpness of her senses, her swift recognition she was being hunted, stalked. "_Gar mesh'la_," Torian thought, moving slowly so that he didn't disturb the brush, determined to get as close to her as possible before she noted him. He watched her, as her gaze swung around the area, her dark eyes trying to find him. She found the cable, first, though. The one obscured by leaves and foliage so that it almost blended in to the tree it was secured to.

Kastiel spun around, preparing to grab against Gault's arm. But he was already stepping into the ring, disturbing the alarm so that the cable snapped in a hard, explosive motion, catching smoothly around his ankles and snatching him off his feet. He yelled out, shocked, startled as his body was swept up and suspended precariously in the air. His rifle slid off of his back, along with his pack, landing with a thud onto the hard ground underneath his dangling head.

Kastiel stopped, staring at the Devaronian as he lobbed up and down, jerking spasmodically as he tried to reach up towards his legs to free himself. But the only blade he possessed was now lying uselessly on the ground. He reached futilely for the thing, his fingers scratching uselessly through the air and causing him to swing back and forth like some sort of crazy pendulum. Kastiel barked a laughing sound, before biting her lip to keep from venting her amusement full bore.

"Dammit, Kas! This isn't funny!" Gault snarled towards the bounty hunter, still swinging to and fro as the taut cable kept him secured to the branch of the tree.

"Yea? Well, from where I'm standing, it's hilarious."

"Fucking Mandalorians! All of you! I'm going to find the fucker who put this stupid rope in this stupid tree on this stupid, crazy planet! I swear it! Sorry, Kas. But he's going to die!"

"Wasn't Torian." Kastiel peered up towards the branch where the cable was secured. She smiled at the ease of the target. "That mark was made weeks ago. Although I'm surprised the trap has gone so long without being set off. Only you would be that damn lucky. You know what this moment needs?"

"A knife? Kas, hand me the knife so I can cut myself loose."

"A monkey-lizard! I can just picture Quinnie standing up there on that branch right now. That would just make this moment priceless!"

Gault spun around in a lazy circle, glaring at her as he bobbed there. "I hate you, Kastiel Lok. I mean it."

Kas just grinned back at him, wicked humor dancing in her brown eyes as she reached out to grasp the belt looped around his hips. "Now, Gault. That's just mean! Just moments ago you were swearing love of me, too. And here you are, hurting my feelings." She smiled toothily at him just before swinging him around, sending him spinning crazily in place, like a top. He yelled at her, wild cries that threatened her, complete with, "Dammit, I know where you sleep, too!"

She stopped suddenly, ignoring Gault's increasingly wild calls. Instead, she canted her head, concentrating on the step of the Mandalorian behind her. She shivered delicately at the energy his approach encouraged, the excitement that settled low in her stomach. She smiled softly, not looking behind her, despite Gault's hiss of warning from where he watched the Mandalorian stalk towards them clutching an electrostaff, "This shit just keeps getting better, geez."

"Got closer than I thought," Torian admitted, sounding oddly disappointed. Kastiel just kept her smile in place, looking coyly over her shoulder at him. He blinked back at her, his eyes looking like nothing as much as liquid gold to her, like jewels that had been melted down and set in his face. He smoothed his gaze down her backside, and she smiled again as she noticed his interest.

She dropped her voice into a sultry drawl, hoping to keep his focus on whatever Gault called her assets. Men seemed to like her shape, at least. Which was precisely why she swung her hips softly, invitingly, even as she spun around to face him. "And here I thought we'd made such a connection back on Dromund Kaas. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Torian stumbled back, his eyes going wide as he gasped, "What …?" For just a small moment, Kastiel delighted in the surprise etched on his features, and then she pounced. She liked Torian. Hell, she more than liked him, she knew. But, damn it, didn't mean she had to lose in any sort of game with him, either.

She sprung forward, gripping his arm hard even as she leaned her hip against his own. She spun against him, flipping him in a smooth arch of motion up and over her side. He yelped as he hit the ground, hard, gasping as the breath was knocked from his belly. She placed one hard boot in the center of his chest, then, smiling down at him over the long length of her blaster as he grunted painfully. "Men. You should work on that, and don't let a pretty ass fool you."

Gault chuckled from his pitiful position, suddenly. "You know, I was just thinking how sorry my position was. But I suddenly think I'm doing pretty well at the moment."

Torian just looked up at her, watching her as he brought his breathing back under control. He shifted under the weight of her foot, his eyes glittering with desire as he moved his gaze across her face. She frowned, her lips parting as they both froze there, staring at each other, both wondering what the other was thinking. He groaned suddenly, watching as Kastiel's small pink tongue smoothed itself between her lips. Then he shook himself, looking sheepishly back at her.

"Ouch. You hurt my pride, Champion. Only because you're right. I deserved that." He rolled out from underneath her boot, accepting the hand she held out towards him as he climbed back to his feet. She started to pull back from him but stopped when he gripped her, pulling her close, molding her hand with sweeping motions of his fingers, feeling the shape of her delicate bones, and wondering at the skill and strength she demonstrated with them. They froze all over again, standing there looking into each other's eyes. She marveled at the molten look he gave her, the way he watched her. He just drank her in, breathing softly.

Gault suddenly grunted. "Hey. Pardon the intrusion, here. But can one of you Mandalorians get me the fuck down, now?"

* * *

**_Gar mesh'la_ means "You're beautiful". **

**Sorry about the delay in getting this one posted. I wanted it to be perfect, as it includes my absolute favorite (flirt) in the entire game. Then I came down with a migraine that knocked me on my tush for a couple of days. But here it is, nonetheless. Fingers crossed you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it, hehe.**


	58. Chapter 57 -- Just One Dead Rakghoul

Torian startled awake, his eyes flying open as he looked across the length of the enclosure towards the spot he'd watched Kastiel leaning earlier in the night. She was sleeping, looking stunned almost, like she'd taken a blow to the jaw that knocked her out cold. He frowned at her, blinking confusedly. Then he glanced around.

The broken edges of an immense concrete wall loomed sullenly into the dark sky behind the ruined curves of the transport where they'd taken shelter. It was Gault fiddling with the heating device plunked in the center of the space that had awakened him, he realized. The Devaronian grunted softly when he noticed Torian watching him.

"Keep quiet, kid. She passed out, finally." Gault inclined his chin towards Kastiel's unconscious form. He set the heater down finally before easing himself back to rest against the transport's wall next to the dark-haired woman again. Kastiel grumbled sleepily as she twisted around until she was leaning up against the wall on her side, moving restlessly until her forehead rested against Gault's shoulder. Torian frowned at the sight, which only encouraged Gault to chuckle in amusement.

Torian looked away, ignoring Gault, gazing out the front of the transport through the broken edges of plastic-glass, there. He could see stars against the backdrop of black sky, along with the shadows of trees and bushes. But nothing living moved out there, no threat approached, so they remained relatively secure. Or at least as secure as anyone could be on such a ravaged mess of a world as Taris.

"She doesn't sleep well, see."

Torian looked back at the Devaronian, frowning even more. He turned his gaze to Kastiel, noting the lines between her eyebrows, as if she was worried about something even as she slept. She twitched every so often, shaking sometimes. He cocked his head, sensing a strange level of tension in her. Like she was scared, perhaps.

Gault sighed, slowly maneuvering Kastiel's sleeping form until she was lying down rather than sitting propped against the wall where she'd basically lost consciousness. As Torian watched, he realized the motions were familiar to Gault, as if what he was doing was a normal task, this effort to make the bounty hunter comfortable enough to truly rest. Like she always slept so tensely that her body literally had to cease functioning before she could rest. He didn't like it, any of it, and he grimaced as he sat there, watching.

He shot Gault a questioning glance. Gault shrugged, "She has nightmares. Bad enough she tends to avoid sleep. Last time I know she slept was a couple days ago, and that was just a cat nap of sorts on the shuttle ride down to planet. But then she took off out here looking for you. Hasn't slept since."

Torian turned his brown eyes back to her, whispering, "Nightmares?"

"You tell me." Gault glanced down at Kastiel's head perched in his lap now, feeling her shivering against him. "She'll shake, cry out some. It's all very quiet, mind you, like she's hiccupping violently, basically. Then she flails around, like she's trapped somewhere scary, trying to get out, but can't. It's painful as shit to watch."

"Trapped …" Torian scooted closer, his eyes frozen on Kastiel's face as his mind burned with the memory, the bloody, ruined body of the woman huddled over the small precious form of her child, her blood spilling down to cover her, while the girl fought frantically to live, terrified or not.

"Yea. I figured you'd understand." Gault carefully lifted Kastiel's head up, holding her as he motioned towards the Mandalorian. Torian frowned, confused for a moment. But then he scuttled hurriedly across the space, avoiding the heater as he settled into the spot Gault was slowly moving away from. He sighed as the Devaronian lowered Kas' head back down, until she lay with her cheek pressed against Torian's thigh, her breath leaving a trail of soft moistness along his leg armor. Torian brushed her hair back from her temple, exposing the glint from the implants under her eyes. He hummed a soft, brief sound, then, feeling content all of a sudden.

Then he looked back at Gault, who was sitting down closer to the heater as the Devaronian cleaned and cared for his rifle. He kept his hand resting gently against Kastiel's neck, though, just over the rippled edges of the scars there. As if he was afraid if he stopped touching her she'd disappear. "Why?"

Gault glanced up, and stared at the blonde-haired warrior with hard, serious eyes. The look was hardly anything like his usual jovial expression, was intense, rather. He spoke quietly, then, looking down at the sleeping hunter. "Eventually she jumps awake, frantic and terrified, like she's looking for something, desperate even. I realized a little while back … that she was looking for you. And I want her to be able to find you this time."

* * *

Lieutenant Pierce growled at the sweetly curved bounty hunter. Hell, her nice shape was partly why he growled. Facing yet another female in just a short while who caused his groin to go hard and tight with excitement, another female that he couldn't hope to really touch, just pissed him off. But this woman was also making his job harder, going off and killing the stupid Republic soldiers he was trying to chase back to their hidey-hole. No chance of that now, he thought, looking around at the ring of dead troopers that litered the marshy soil of the ground around the cesspool of a lake.

Not that his effort at intimidating her seemed to be working. She just cocked one slim eyebrow in his direction, staring back at him with what he sensed was amusement. He was grateful she didn't laugh outright at him, though. He wasn't sure he could've tolerated one fucking giggle at this point, honestly. He had a Sith to please, anyway, and that task was proving more of a headache than he'd thought originally.

Exciting as hell, though.

"You're only looking to haul off a dead Rakghoul? Seriously? What's so important, that you need a dead Rakghoul?"

She shrugged back at him. "You're following a bunch of Republic soldiers? What's so important, that you have to know where these guys were headed?"

Pierce narrowed his eyes angrily at the neat evasion of his demand for information. Her dark eyes glinted with real amusement this time – hell, even her pretty, pouty lips twitched - and he growled all over again. He took a step forward, looming over her smaller frame, his threat implicit. The lack of wisdom in the approach became obvious quickly, as the amusement in her expression immediately vanished. She snarled at him, then.

"Don't fuck with me, lieutenant. You know as well as I do there's another squad of troopers nearby. I'd wager they're with the same battalion as these sorry and dead bozos I managed to kill, here. Since finding that battalion's location is probably what you're out here to do, why don't you turn your fool ass around and get to it, hmmm?" Her eyes flashed at him, glittering with rageful intent. She might as well have said to him, "I'll bust your balls in half." Even without those words her message was implicit.

Figures. He would've been happy taking this hunter on during a bout of sweaty fun back at the barracks. Instead, he'd be lucky to walk away from this encounter with his butt intact. His pride was already in shreds. And the smirks from the other members of his team, behind him, made that blatantly obvious. He glared at her.

"What makes you think we're following anyone?"

"Oh? Are we going to argue over the dead Rakghoul, then? Didn't realize you wanted one, too. Gault!" The hunter looked behind her, towards the Devaronian who was hurriedly packing the decomposing remains of the Rakghoul in question into a plastic body sack. "Give the lieutenant the corpse, so he can haul it off. We'll go find another one. Hopefully there isn't another squad of troopers waiting to jump us as soon as we find it."

"Shit, are you joking? Please tell me you're joking, Kas. Do you know how gross it is to handle these things, sheesh!" Pierce gaped as the Devaronian began pulling the body sack towards him, stopping to dump it with a thud right at his feet. The horned-man waved his hand over the thing, in dramatic presentation. "Here you go, idiot sir. It's the truth, I'm fucking tired of carrying bodies around. So have at it!"

Pierce grumbled sourly. "I don't want or need a dead Rakghoul."

The hunter tapped the soft tip of one finger against one of the blasters resting against her hips. The sound seemed to soothe her, he thought. "You, lieutenant, have the brains of a bantha. I was in a fairly good mood, mind you, even after looking for a rotting mess of a body. Hey, had a good night's sleep! But you're pushing your luck, I kid you not."

Pierce opened his mouth as if to argue further, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the look in her eyes, that promised retribution if he said one more stupid thing to her. It could've been the Devaronian, who'd fallen back behind the hunter to grip his rifle with hard fingers. He realized suddenly that the hunter's directions towards the fellow had allowed him to lose the burden of that dead Rakghoul in one smooth bit of motion, leaving the Devaronian free to maneuver into a good battle position.

But there was more, some sense he had all of a sudden. There was someone else nearby, he could feel it, almost taste the threat hanging in the air. Pierce trusted his senses, his gut. It had saved him far more times than not. And his instincts were screaming, that this hunter was strong, determined – because she damn well knew he'd lose whatever hand he raised against her. Shit, whoever it was out there guarding the woman would rip him to pieces, and gladly, that's how strongly the intent focused on him truly felt.

"You know, I met a Sith a few weeks ago. You're a lot like her, I think. So you gonna fry my ass if I don't back off? That could prove ... interesting."

Her brown eyes flashed. He tried identifying the emotion he saw there but it escaped him, it was replaced that quickly by cool disregard. Not interested in flirting, he surmised. Damn it to hell. "Oh? Is that what you want? A fight?"

Pierce grumbled, "You would, too. Mandalorians. Load of savages, the lot of you. Always looking for a fight."

She leaned closer, her nose wrinkling with disgust at him. "You're lucky I don't have time to waste on a _di'kut_ like you. I suggest you hightail it while my patience is still intact. Before I change my mind, at least, and make you a new priority on my list of things to do."

The lieutenant proved how un-stupid he really was, Kastiel thought. Unfortunately. Since she was rather in the mood to shoot him by then. Sadly, he hightailed it.

* * *

Torian watched Kastiel study the twisted, mutated form of the Rakghoul with a curious, studious expression. Every so often she'd loose a simple sigh, or twist her head at some new, interested angle as she tried to see some different perspective of the thing. She looked over at him, one sweetly arched eyebrow raised up questioningly, "What sort of tissue samples do you need, Torian?"

He grunted as he knelt down next to her, sliding so smoothly into place it almost felt like her hip had a warm spot designed just for him. Like he belonged right there.

He shook himself, though, focusing on the task at hand. Jicoln was a dangerous target. Torian was finding it easier to expose his own life to risk and threat, than to tolerate threats to hers. He scowled as he remembered the Imperial officer looming over her, thought yet again that he should have just shot the damn _ge'huutun's_ head from his shoulders. He'd settle in the meantime, though, for the chance to shield her from a few dozen Rakghouls. All it took was some smelly, nasty work first.

"Here. We need the soft tissues. Lungs and stomach muscles are probably more liquid than anything, useless. See here? The heart and liver are still intact enough. Mushy though." Torian cut easily through the rotting flesh of the creature. Gault gagged suddenly, yelping some wordless sound of distress as he rushed away from where they were crouched down next to the rotting corpse. Kas shared a smirking grin with Torian as the unmistakable sounds of gagging sounded from around the edge of their brief shelter.

Then she looked back down at the body. "It was human once. Male. Tough enough. Possibly a pirate or some other scoundrel, come to Taris seeking fortune from the ruins. Damn fool."

"You've got a good eye. Gault said you're a _baar'ur_." He grunted softly when she looked at him with a confused expression. "A doctor, or medic. Learning _mando'a_ pretty fast, too."

She smiled. "You sound interested in teaching me. That Jogo fellow about threw a hissy fit when I asked."

He only shrugged, not really wishing to talk about Jogo. He took the opportunity to remove the Rakghoul's pancreas, the thing looking like nothing but a sorry bit of brown shit that he turned around to toss into a bowl. "_Mando'a_ is for those of the _mando'ad_ itself, not for _aruetii_. Outsiders, I mean. How did you become a _baar'ur_?"

She studied him for a moment, the way he bent his head to his task, focused. She thought of what she wanted to say, the words that seemed to bubble there against her lips. "_I looked for you, after I woke up and couldn't find you. I was scared, when I realized the sound wasn't coming back. You'd made me feel safe. And then you weren't there. I missed you, Torian._" But she bit her lip, hard, almost broke the skin, and kept the words back. Better to speak of the practical, than to admit she fought madly to be strong like he'd shown her that day.

"My father was an Imperial doctor, very well regarded. You probably saw him in the hospital, there. Not that he would've made a point of introducing himself, either. Tobie told me he spoke of you and the others that night, after he carried me to Tobie's clinic. The woman. Was she your mother? I always wondered." Her voice was wistful for a moment. He looked up at her, twitching his head to push back a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"My _buir_, yes. Aily was what she was called. She fought harder than any other woman I've ever known. Except for you."

"I fight as hard as need be, is all."

"You fight well. With honor. I _like_ to watch you fight."

He smiled as her creamy skin flushed pink, the blush sweeping down along the curves of her neck before disappearing under the edges of her armor. He wondered briefly how far down the blush would go, if it would encompass her breasts, circle her nipples, make them pucker into pretty, hard nubs he could roll against his tongue. He sucked in a breath suddenly, almost hissing, and then regretted it, coughing briefly as the stench of the Rakghoul suddenly filled his nostrils again.

Kastiel shifted alongside him, trying to ease the warm ache between her legs, feeling uncertain and off balance. She watched as his coughs tapered off and he went back to working over the cadaver. His blonde head was tilted forward, so that his chin nudged against the upper part of his armored chest. She sniffed, remembering to breathe out as she watched the cords in his neck twisting while he looked down and around at the different organs. "What happened to her? Aily?"

Torian paused, closing his eyes briefly. He spoke quietly, "_Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_." She only watched him. He turned his head to look at her, let his gaze slide across her face. Kastiel was one of the last incredible things his mother had done, had given to him – in Kas, he saw his mother's bravery and tenacity reflected. "It means, _not gone, merely marching far away_. We speak the words to remember. She came here, to Taris. Hunted Jicoln."

He watched her eyes darken, until they looked almost black. Like looking into the depths of that cave back on Dromund Kaas, he thought. Deep, plunging down, into scary places where fears and terrors battled. Learning your hero died, lost … what did that do, he wondered. Kas murmured, then, "She died alone?"

"Unless Jicoln stayed with her."

"Do you think he did?"

Torian frowned, thinking of the stories Korwis had told him of Jicoln, of his fights and his hunts. And of the man's appreciation for his wife, their love. Jicoln's dishonor wouldn't have changed that, he didn't think. "I don't know. I would have, if the fight was mine. But I don't like to think I'm anything like him."

Kastiel was quiet as he finished his work, thinking of honor, Mandalorian honor, and what it demanded of those who cherished it, fought for it. To be that strong, to make a fight you knew you couldn't win. Or to defend yourself, even against the one who loved you? Powerful. She watched him as he went about cleaning himself of the preparations he'd made, the paste he'd prepared. He grunted after a while, sounding satisfied. "Torian?"

He turned his head, seeming to drink her in. He'd remained deeply aware of her, of every motion she made, every breath. It thrummed in him as she moved about, as she spoke. Or when she just sat there, even. It was like a vivid, unceasing energy that simply persisted. A deep, rich feeling of her that simply remained constant, steady. She was _there_, and he knew it, reveled in it.

"Torian, he won't kill you like that. I promise. We'll win, here. We'll make it so that no one ever calls you _aru'tal_ again."

Torian's eyes gleamed back at her, warm, honey-glazed eyes. He cocked his head to the side as he considered her, feeling her, her complete determination, the heady sense of commitment in the promise she offered to him. The satisfaction of it slid through him, solid and intense. If there'd ever been a moment he doubted it, that moment – when she stood by him in incredible defiance of every single mocking gesture he'd endured over the years, had come after him even knowing, understanding what so many of them thought and said about him, like she didn't care about any of that as much as she did _him _… That was the moment he first named her _cyare_.


	59. Chapter 58 -- A Grey Haze

Jicoln Cadera looked across the expanse of grass and ruin, through the daylight streaming into the station from the collapsed roof overhead, watching as the warriors, there, battled against a rather tenacious group of Rakghouls. They were magnificent, the two that he could see, both of them younger than anyone who'd ever chased after him across the Taris wilds.

He growled, watching them, watched the lean figure of the man tense against the ebony-haired woman's back as he yanked her away from the snapping jaws of a rather large and tenacious Rakghoul, his electrostaff swinging out to bash against the creature's head. Brains and gore spun out in an arc along the ground, while the thing's final squeals pealed through the air. They fought well together, their motions almost synchronized, rhythmic. They each worked to guard the other, and the Rakghouls fell down in front of them as if they were scything wheat in a field. Tenacious skill, beautiful to watch, Jicoln thought. They'd easily survive the fight.

No, the Rakghouls wouldn't kill them. That burden would fall to him, rather.

He felt tired suddenly, ached with it, even as he turned to rush down the smaller tunnel, the one that bypassed the main entrance to the station. Damn him, damn Artus to the depths of the Corellian Hell or the agonies of the Sith Chaos, their Void! Anything, so long as he suffered! How much would that _ge'hutuun_ ask of him, how many lives would he expend on this cesspool of a world for his revenge? Had he not given enough, sacrificed enough, to salve Artus' wounded pride? Now Atrus was sending their youngest, newest warriors, the ones bright and eager to prove themselves against the will and might of this world and his own weapons. Sending them to die, here, like so many others.

Jicoln paused, gulping against the bile that rose in his throat. He glanced up towards the blue sky above, the sunlight blaring down over the landscape.

There was nothing left. It was all gone. He'd known it as soon as his eyes flew open there in that dark alcove of a room far away on the world of Sulust where the last of his warriors had fled carrying him, binding his wounds. He'd looked around, at his broken men, their heads hanging down, and he'd understood the bitter agony of defeat for the first time. Known that Artus would do as he'd promised, that he'd make the entire _aliit_ pay, every Cadera, down to their smallest.

_"Damn you, Jicoln! You're aruetii, you're _dar'manda _for this, and everyone you've ever cherished will pay for it! Damn you! I'll rip your boy from his mother's breast for what you've done, here!"_

_Torian_. The name of his son slid along the tender nerves of his memory, the images screamed through his mind - his tiny head held up in Aily's hands so that he could see him, the little body he reached out to pick up, the way he fit that tiny form in the snug curve of his arm, the sound of his first cry, his first laugh. Jicoln had thought there was nothing more painful than that moment, when he woke up on Sulust certain that his son was dead, that Artus had done as he promised and destroyed that tiny, precious creature.

That was what he thought, until Aily herself came to Taris. The look in her eyes after she lost her helmet and he finally saw her face, knew who she was, as she slumped there under the tree where he'd sent the bolt flying, watched it catch her, spinning her body back and to the ground – that look was one he'd never forgotten, not ever.

_"Why, Aily? Damn it, no!"_

_"__Worth it. Had to … fight. Nothing else left to do."_

_"You didn't have to do this."_

_"Yes, I did. Had to ... Torian." _

She'd looked at him, then, and that was what he remembered, that sad, tired little smile she gave him as she died, with their son's name the last word on her lips. Followed him into death, he thought. She'd fought to avenge their son upon him, for failing him as badly as that, and died for it.

Now, he looked across the stretch of grass, rocks, and shattered buildings, all broken beyond repair. Nothing the Republic did would put things back together here, not with the Empire nipping at their heels to keep them hampered. This world was lost, just as much as he was, filled only with the most tired memories, of dreams and hopes long since set aside. He knew how Taris felt, how it mourned, until the grief seemed almost a living thing, hidden behind the glaring eyes of maddened monsters.

"Nothing else left to do." Jicoln murmured to himself, repeating Aily's dying words, remembering, rubbing against the bulge of his commlink for when those young warriors reached the holoterminal at the heart of the station. He'd fight, and hard, because no one who came here in Artus' name deserved less than his most brutal effort. He'd destroy them both, and anyone else who fought with them, too. Because he had nothing else left, nothing else to fight for. Just another bit of proof, proof that he was stronger than any warrior Artus sent after him, better, more skilled. Just proof that Artus was nothing worth fighting for, fighting with, that all those who followed him were the fools, the failures.

And maybe for just a little while longer he'd have the only thing left worth living for anymore.

Oblivion.

* * *

Kastiel whimpered under the terrible onslaught of agonizingly painful sound, the high-pitched droning scream of a machine, only vaguely registering Torian's hands against her arms as she bent over in incredible distress. He was calling to Gault, she thought, but she didn't appreciate any of the words he used. She knew the sound was beyond their ability to hear. But her implants provided her a stunningly painful impression of the sound. Almost broke her.

The two men braced her between them, though, so that she leaned against Torian's back while Gault took up a protective stance behind her, his back pressed against her as he raised up his rifle. They were shouting back and forth, trying to identify the threat, to know why she was nearly falling over from pain. Kas fumbled through her pack, reaching for the device she used to monitor and control her implants. Her fingers flew across the pad, familiar motions she'd made countless times over the years.

And everything went silent, the din falling utterly, totally still. For a moment, it felt to Kastiel like the world stopped moving.

She breathed in and out, then, reaching out to touch Torian's shoulder. He looked over at her, his eyes wide with question. She mentally sighed, knowing she'd be difficult to understand, that she'd talk all wrong into the quiet, while she was unable to appropriately judge the tone and pitch of her voice. They'd laughed at her as a child when she tried communicating and jumbled the sounds, sounding strange and weird to those around her. She spoke quickly, now, the words coming out chopped and broken. "A trap. Tripped a beacon of some kind, crazy sound, high-pitched. Felt like it was slicing through my head. Hurt! Turned off my implants."

He inclined his head, leaning to the side to regard the swirl of her ears. She felt the rumble of his chest under her shoulder, knew he was talking to Gault. She lifted her blasters, tucking them into the palms of her hands as she prepared for the impending assault. Torian reached out to touch her ear softly, signaling his need to communicate. She glanced at him, watched his lips moving.

"Stay close! Don't want one of the things getting behind you, where you can't sense them. They're _dini'la_, always. Insane. But worse now, if the sound is meant to draw them here." He was tense as he gripped his electrostaff tightly. She knew he was concerned about the handicap she faced, with the implants nonfunctioning. But there wasn't any time to smooth away his worry. She only shook her head back at him, "Don't worry about me. Just fight."

Kastiel was deaf. She never really forgot that, and certainly didn't go into a fight without considering it. There were any number of weapons designed to incapacitate an opponent who relied upon implants, anyway. Hell, a mere buzz of sound had accomplished that today! Only a fool would be so dependent on his implants that he'd be unable to act, to work without them. And no one had ever called her a fool.

No, Kas had practiced, practiced long and hard. Braden would cover her eyes, leaving her blind as well as deaf, just to show her, teach her. "_You have senses aside from hearing, Kas. Seeing, too, mind you. Reach out with your ability to touch, concentrate on the way things move and how it makes your skin feel. Focus on the way the air flows around a body as it rushes along. Or hell, just the damn energy of a person as they stand there all quiet and still, maybe_." She'd practiced for hours at a time, days upon days, until the ability was almost rote, so habitual that people said she glided rather than walked, her sense of motion and touch as she moved around people and objects in her path was so seemless, so simple.

It was a very particular skill, carefully engineered in her, and she drew upon it as she prepared, there. Kastiel only grunted softly, murmuring almost soundlessly as she felt the Rakghouls thundering towards them. The ground rumbled under her feet, the vibrations subtle at first. But they came faster and harder the closer the beasts got to them. She panted, her blasters held up, ready and focused on the nearby entrance to the wide open space so ruined it looked like the very ground was trying to devour the station back into itself.

"Almost here," she whispered, not knowing her voice came out like a brief puff of sound. Gault was stiff as he crouched down behind a nearby panel, the equipment broken neatly down the middle of the device by some large chunk of rocky debris from the roof above. He propped his rifle against the metallic edge of the panel, biting back some sarcastic comment as he waited for the Rakghouls to stream into the place, only because he knew Kastiel couldn't hear it and Torian wouldn't really appreciate it. Why waste a good laugh, he thought.

Torian's gaze was skimming the walls that surrounded them, looking for signs of where Jicoln would've placed the beacon. It would look natural, like something that belonged in the place. Camouflaged to blend in so simply the average hunter would never find it, just fall under the endlessly hungry jaws of the crazed monsters. A rather twisted bit of a trap and utterly effective.

He didn't bother biting back the angry growl that lingered in his throat, either. Because he knew Jicoln wouldn't have activated such a trap if he was still nearby. The traitor had fled already.

His keen eye caught the sign just as the first Rakghoul was bursting out of the darkness. But he saw it, first. The curved edge of a sound device tucked up against a rock that looked at first glance like a bit of broken trash. Except for the deliberate placing of ruined wires and other garbage. If not for the thick wire that extended out from the pile, that powered the device, even he would've probably overlooked the thing. He marked the spot, there, leaping to the thing and breaking it with one swift sweep of his staff.

Torian turned to meet the onrushing Rakghouls, then, hoping to put himself between his hunter and the horde. Kastiel was moving, though. She fired her jetpack, using the momentum of the thing to rocket a punch into the face of the largest creature. It screamed a shrill, pained sound, as whatever was left of its nose crunched under the force Kastiel expended. She grabbed the thing's head, spinning it around hard, so that its neck popped with a sickening loud crack, and she stepped back as it fell dead at her feet.

Torian gasped, shouting at her as one particularly burly Rakghoul growled at her back, lunging at her. Torian jumped towards the hunter. But Kastiel was already spinning on the heel of her boot, swinging around to rock the attacking ghoul with a hard punch to the side of its head. The blow was hard enough, shocking it so that it literally fell onto its side, its large arm lashing out in an attempt to catch its weight against the ground. Instead, the sound of breaking bone filled the air. Kastiel grinned as she saw bone protruding from the limb and stomped on it, breaking it still more, literally crushing the Rakghoul's arm under her boot. It screamed until she shot it dead, the bolt flying from her blaster straight into its face.

For only a moment, Torian marveled at her, at the sheer perfection of her motions. She didn't hesitate, didn't even stop. She swung her arms up, her blasters held straight out as a volley of bolts spilled from the weapons. The arching wave of fire swept in front of her, dropping no less than six Rakghouls as they rushed at her. The things collapsed, screaming shrilly as they died under the blazing hail of bolts from her weapons. Torian pressed himself close to her back, reaching out to grab against her shoulder as one large monster snapped its jaws towards her.

The crack of the thing's teeth was loud in the air. It shrieked angrily at them, its mouth gaping wide to show them long lines of cruel, sharp teeth. Torian leaned against Kastiel's back, shouting back at it as he lashed out with his staff, bringing the blunt edge of his weapon down across its thick, meaty skull. He smiled when the monster's brains splashed out against the ground at their feet. Kastiel made some small sound that was his name, and he shifted, feeling his legs pressing against the back of her thighs for just a moment.

Then she raised up her weapons one more time, firing a last volley towards the twitching forms of several Rakghouls trying to raise themselves up from their slumped positions on the ground. He felt the force of the attack through her form, the pulsing rhythm of her weapons discharging. And he realized what senses she'd used to wage the battle, reveled in the tenacity of her skill and technique. His tension gradually eased, and he hummed against her back, reminding her of his presence, his determination.

"Yea, I can feel you. Standing a bit close, aren't you?" She turned around to face him, her front only vaguely splattered with blood. She'd managed to kill most of the beasts from a distance. She could see Gault trotting up to join them, his lips moving as he complained about the effort, of course. She looked back at Torian, catching him in a smile.

"You need me to distance myself?" He asked her, his lips twitching as he watched her.

"Not in a million years." She spoke quickly, then looked surprised, abashed all of a sudden. He smiled as she fumbled, looking away from him so that she could neatly avoid anything else he had to say. He could hear her mumbling to herself, though. He wondered if she even knew she was talking aloud. "Got to turn my damn implants back on. Find the door into Jicoln's stupid lair. And what sort of ass puts his camp in the middle of a Rakghoul nest, anyway?"

Gault stepped up next to to Torian as Kastiel bent over the controller, tapping at the thing. The Devaronian shook his head, "Never seen her so off balance. Figures. We get within ten feet of you, looks into your googly-ass eyes, and she goes all girlie on me."

Torian glanced at him, "She's _worth_ watching."

Gault chuckled. "Hell yea she is. But she doesn't look back. Ever. Until you."

"Ever?"

"Ever." Gault looked at him, dropping his voice low, so that she wouldn't hear. "You Mandalorians are a different breed. She grew up in a world where deafness is something bad, terrible, and the scars that made it are worth mocking. Men were cruel to her. She stopped looking at them a long time ago."

"Cruel ..." Torian frowned as he watched Kastiel come back to her feet, shaking her head as if to test the implants were working again. "How?"

Gault only shook his head, though. He looked at Kastiel sadly, watching as she moved back to join them again. Torian just clenched his fists, thinking of the appeal to be had in finding anyone who's treatment of his hunter could be called "cruel". Then the rest of it, what Gault had just shared, hit him hard, so that his eyes were wide when Kastiel finally stopped there in front of them. She frowned at him, "What's wrong?"

"Ever?" He croaked, the single word sounding breathless. He was staring at her. She looked back at him, confused, even though she appreciated the glittering look in his eyes as his gaze moved down her frame slowly. She raised an eyebrow, questioning, "Ever what?"

Gault nodded his head firmly, answering Torian's query. "Yea. _Ever_."

She shrugged, dismissing whatever male bonding moment they'd shared while she was lost in her grey haze of quiet. She pointed towards the doorway almost hidden against several piles of scavenged materials. "I think that's the place. I get the feeling Jicoln's already run away. Let's find signs of where he might have headed off to."

Gault chuckled as he rested a hand against Torian's shoulder, pushing him mockingly after the bounty hunter as she turned to move towards the room where Jicoln had camped. Torian ignored him, though. He followed along behind Kastiel, his mind spinning as he considered her. He rested his gaze on her hips, tough-looking with blasters hanging from her belt, but still curved deliciously above a sweet heart-shaped pair of buttocks. The kind of hips a man could hold without fear he'd harm her, could hang onto as he pushed and pulled her against him while she cradled his cock inside of her. The hips that no man had ever held that way. _Ever_, he thought.

* * *

Kastiel arched an eyebrow as she looked up at the looming holoimage. She tried to find signs of Torian in the man, her gaze moving over his features quickly. He was bigger, at least. His son was lean and fit, well-muscled, almost deliciously shaped. Jicoln Cadera, though, was broad-shouldered, his chest large and wide with bulging muscles. She didn't see anything of him that she would've attributed to Torian.

Until she looked into his eyes. Light brown, smoky-gold almost, and fervent, determined - those were Torian's eyes glaring down at her from that broad face. It was his eyes that marked him Torian's father, proved they shared the same blood. But Jicoln's were sheer - this was a haunted man, heart-sore, broken inside. So much regret, so much loss, all of it stewing in the midst of constant danger and conflict, surrounded by the wrecked hulls of a busted-up and decaying world. Jicoln Cadera was bitter, angry, the sort of anger that lives in a man over many years. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she considered him.

_Time to end this, old man_, she thought to herself.

"Artus has reduced himself to sending children after me, it seems. I'm not overly impressed by you, girl," Jicoln sneered at her.

Torian huffed, snarling back at him from his place behind Kastiel. "He's called Mandalore."

Jicoln's glare intensified. Kas could almost feel the waves of rage and anger coming from him, even over the distance that separated them. She imagined that if he could, he'd reach out to grapple them both to the ground in his raging upset. "I know what he calls himself now. But I was there. You? Call him whatever you see fit."

Kastiel lifted her chin, tossing her challenge out firmly, proud. "I call him _buir_."

Jicoln froze, his gaze burning as he regarded her. There was calculation, there, a vivid need to know if she was speaking truly. She waited, her own eyes looking back at him with simple ease, unconcerned. Behind her, Torian shifted, stepping closer. Jicoln glanced at him, noting the movement. "Is that so? Well then. That might make you worth something to me."

"So long as it's worth meeting face to face, Jicoln. Or have you been rotting here too long?"

"Be careful with your challenges, girl. You may be biting off more than you can chew."

"You're no challenge, Jicoln. Just a sad remnant of what you once were. Mandalore sent me to end this, that's all."

Jicoln scowled at her. "Your bravado will get you nowhere, not with me. Fine, then. The g_eroya be haran_, here. I'll be waiting at these coordinates. Go there, and I will know you'll fight. Then I'll destroy Artus' _ad_. And it will be finished at last." She caught the sigh he gave towards the end, the satisfaction in that look he tossed at her as the holoimage disappeared intensely real. She'd tossed a gauntlet towards the man, knew he'd take the bait, come out into the open for her to find. Because she'd sensed the hatred he felt for the Mandalore, the bitter depths of it. Once again she wondered what had driven such a warrior to betray everything important to a Mandalorian, to betray his honor so badly.

Then she looked over at Torian, at the stoic expression on his face as he watched the man everyone but him called his father. She sighed. Whatever impulse had lead Jicoln to self-ruin, the price had proved too high. She'd see to it that Torian no longer paid it.

* * *

**_aruetii_ - traitor, foreigner, outsider.**

**_dar'manda_ - not Mandalorian, not an outsider but someone who's lost his heritage or had it taken from him, so that he's lost his identity and his soul; an exile; pretty much the worst punishment imaginable by most Mandalorians.**

**_ge'hutuun - _bandit, villain, petty thief; can mean an especially terrible criminal you have no respect for; an abuser**

**_dini'la_ - insane**

**_buir_ - father, mother, parent**

**_ad_ - son, daughter, child**

**_geroya be haran_ - Mandalorian death game, very very rare. Invoked to settle matters of honor between two individuals. A fight to the death. Translated to "game of annihilation".**


	60. Chapter 59 -- Geroya be Haran

_**"... The **_**Alii'jate**_**, personal honors ..."**_

_Kastiel strained to see, standing up as high as she could, lifting herself up until she perched uneasily on the merest tips of her toes. But there were too many people milling around her, not seeing her little three year-old form, there, all of them crowding her so that she almost tumbled backwards. She whimpered, pained at the thought she'd miss the sight of him. But her mother helped, suddenly, reaching down to pick her up so that she was perched higher. Settled onto her mother's hip, Kas was able to see him._

_The spires of the monument to the Sith Lord Ergast reached up like three strong fingers pointing at the dark skies over Kaas City. It seemed to Kastiel almost like a hand holding her father in its palm, there, and she gasped in a breath. He was wearing his uniform, of course – dark grey with black epaulets across his shoulders – so that the gleam of the medallion the Moff placed around his neck nearly reflective with stunning brilliance against the backdrop of dark colors._

_He looked out over the throng of crowds as the Moffs and the Lords droned on through endless speeches about courage and sacrifice. But Lucien only looked out at the people gathered there, his dark eyes searching every one of the faces. Until he found them. _

_Kastiel hugged her little arms around her mother's neck as she watched her father give them the briefest smile, seeing them there. She could almost feel her father's pride, his satisfaction that they were nearby, that they'd seen the award offered to him. He pressed out his chest, so that the reflection of brief light from the afternoon sky could catch it, so it sparkled like a star on his chest. She knew he was showing her deliberately, showing her how hard he'd fought, that the stories he shared with her, whispered to her sometimes while she was falling asleep – whispered sometimes so that her mother couldn't hear, because she insisted Kas would frightened by such things – that those stories were true and her Da really was the hero of her dreams._

_"I'd give it to you, if I could, my little Kas. You're my bravest girl, after all. No father could be prouder of his child than I am."_

* * *

Kastiel scanned the ruins with a searching gaze. Gault leaned up against a nearby wall, its stone edifice curving up out of the hard-packed soil, as if whatever building it had come from was actually being consumed by Taris itself. So many of the ruins looked like that, like the planet itself was actually swallowing them whole. Gault appeared unperturbed by their surroundings, eyed her with curiosity, in fact. He just shrugged towards her, "That Mando of yours is determined to kill his daddy. Makes me wonder bout him."

She grunted. "Seems to me Jicoln himself is a bit tired of the chase, too."

"So this is a mercy killing we're talking about?"

She looked over at the Devaronian, her dark brown eyes looking like solid dark chocolate all of a sudden. He wondered, looking at her, what sort of mother she'd be. She'd learned so early to be strong, brave, to sacrifice everything if need be, to give every ounce of blood if that's what was required. Hell, he thought. She'd teach them to be as strong as she was, stronger, even. They'd emerge into the world clutching blasters in each tiny hand, he imagined, the image so absurd he actually chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"You're going to be a tough momma for your own children, aren't you, Kas?"

Her eyes darkened even further as she frowned, thinking of Tamerie. She looked away, biting her lower lip between her teeth. "That's what a mother has to be, right? Strong enough to keep her children safe, to keep them from being broken. Can't be strong enough, even."

"Hey." Gault reached out to grip Kastiel's elbow, so that she turned to look back at him, her gaze liquid with distress. He only shrugged, grinning broadly at her so that his bright white teeth gleamed sharply at her, working as he always did to comfort her with his innate friendly humor. "Your kids are going to be the toughest little shits this galaxy's ever seen, admit it! You wouldn't allow anything else, I'd wager. They'll learn from the best, that's all."

"My parents were the best, Gault."

"Yea, well. I still think it's weird to be out here preparing to kill the guy your own children might call granddaddy someday."

She batted his shoulder, shaking her head at him. She remembered suddenly, that last time her father leaned over her, as she lay there shattered, broken, and crying from the pain, how he'd run one single finger down the unblemished side of her face. She'd known even then it was the last time she'd see him, known he was saying goodbye to her. She didn't even have to hear the words he whispered against her cheek as he leaned over to kiss her one last time. She'd heard his grief, his sorrow, even through the aching quiet of her shattered eardrums, and she'd understood.

That was the same feeling she had whenever she regarded Jicoln Cadera. It compelled her forward, that basic intrinsic understanding, that Jicoln was saying goodbye, wishing for it. It was like no one of them could move forward, as if everything was stymied, trapped, until the past was resolved, done and finished, and somewhere, somehow even Jicoln felt it for the truth that it was. The ending had come, the thing was done. She was just its witness.

Gault moved off away from Kastiel as her commlink began chirping. She smiled briefly as Torian's image took shape, there. "Is it done, Torian? You find them?"

He nodded at her. "Is the traitor there?"

She frowned as she looked around once again, shaking her head. "No sign of him, actually. Just a marker at the coordinates he gave us." She heard him breathe in roughly, his concern aching through to her. He was certain the only way to beat Jicoln at this death game he'd asked for was that they separate, so that he could scout for the four marks Jicoln had left in place. But that depended on whatever was left of Jicoln's honor, too. It would so easy to trick her into dropping her guard just long enough ...

Kastiel's head snapped up, her gaze flying unerringly through the sniper's scope towards Jicoln himself. He frowned at the ease with which she found him, saw him, and his hesitation was just enough. She was already leaping when he finally released a bolt from his rifle. The ping of the shot across the metallic edge of the ruined surface of some kind of small starship buzzed through the air. Gault was shouting, rushing towards the spot where Kastiel lay, pulling at her body until she was huddled next to him behind the broken stone of the nearby wall.

Kastiel fumbled for her commlink. She tried ignoring Gault's snarl of frustration, "Only a bunch of fucking Mandalorians could have a family reunion like this! You're all insane! Next time, I'm going to leave you lying there, Kas. I'll keep your ship! Maybe I'll dump the monkey-lizard on that bastard Jicoln's head while I'm at it! Gods!"

Kastiel butted her shoulder against Gault's, watching as the image of Jicoln Cadera filled her link. He shook his head at her, "You accepted my challenge. You shouldn't have."

"Kiss my ass, Jicoln. You're the one who's going to lose everything – every honor, every achievement. After this, even your memory will be wiped from Mandalorian history. Why you keep dragging everyone who's ever respected you through such shit is beyond me."

Jicoln's eyes shined brightly as he glared at her. "So you understand what the _Geroya be Haran_ costs the loser. I wondered if you did, when you took up the fight."

"You're the one who always puts people on the line that don't deserve the loss. Not me."

"You don't fight alone today. I see a Devaronian with you, now. Where's the other one?"

"Oh, Gault deserves the loss, trust me." Kastiel ignored Gault's disgusted snort as easily as she ignored Jicoln's question about Torian's location. He'd seen Torian already. It was enough of a warning, she believed. "But I won't lose, either."

"I once said the same thing, girl …" Jicoln's image suddenly blurred. She blinked owlishly as Torian's image took shape where his father's had been only moments before. Even Gault grunted at the bizarre disparity between the father and son, muttering, "Yea, that's weird."

"Are you okay, Kas? Kastiel!" Torian was adamant.

She imagined he'd jump through the link to reach her, if he could have. She murmured a sound, soft. Torian quieted, staring back at her. She watched him breathe for a moment, and they stayed that way for several long moments, calming. "I found them." Torian tapped steadily against a datapad, transmitting the coordinates to her. "Korwis would've been disappointed, actually. Jicoln still uses his old methods. The pattern was easy enough to figure out. Remember. Find his honors. When you take them, you can move to take his home. Then you'll win."

"We'll do this, Torian. Don't worry."

"You have to move fast. I'm tracking his home base. Won't be long. Be careful_, cya_ … Kastiel." He made a fist against his side as he regarded her, his golden eyes gleaming brightly in his face. She just looked back at him, her eyebrows gathered together as she lowered her chin only slightly. She watched as his image flickered and disappeared.

Beside her, Gault clicked his tongue. "And to think you were worried he wouldn't like you. I could almost laugh right now. Except I just want to hum some silly sound like 'ahhhh'."

"Shut up, Gault."

"Shutting up, sure thing."

* * *

**_"... The _Yai'me'suum_, the homeworld ..."_**

_Kastiel lifted her face up to the sky, laughing as the rain splashed against her cheeks and forehead, streaming through her black hair until the braids hung soaked against her small back like two thick ropes that she swung around her, flinging water in fat droplets in every direction. She delightedly jumped from puddle to puddle, kicking the water towards her brother, soaking her clothes and making Gaib shriek in angry determination to get back at her. Cam huddled away out of sight, up against the wall, trying to keep from getting caught in the splashing mess, but she still giggled as she watched her siblings play. Their mother called after them in horrified disgust at the thought of cleaning up after their antics._

_"Leave off, sweet. Let them play. They won't be so young forever." Her father's voice rose deep over the cool wash of the rain shower, and Kastiel swung around, looking for him. __She giggled when she saw him, waving her hands high over her head as she saw him standing nearby. She chased at him, racing hard through the rain that spilled into the courtyard of the building where they lived, her arms held up, crying out, "Da!"_

_He caught her, swinging her high over his head, laughing out loud at her eager pleasure. But Tamerie clucked at him, complaining, "Lucien, your uniform will be a ruined mess. What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn't be able to see us before you had to go … home."_

_"Uniforms! Hah! I'll tell them I was mobbed by the children who love to welcome the Empire's heroes home. And I am home, Tam, aren't I? See the rain? Dromund Kaas is as pleasant as ever," Lucien grinned as he plucked Kastiel's tiny brother from the ground, holding the both of them close as he crooned happily towards Camiel. She jumped at him, holding onto his leg so that all of them could feel the rain pouring down steadily as he swung his children around._

* * *

Jicoln growled low in frustrated admiration, watching her approach the _Naast_, his last and final honor, placed there on the very front of a derelict military vehicle for her to find.

The _Naast_, the destroyer – the thing itself was little more than an old plate of _beskar_, not even a full piece of armoring. But it came from an old chest plate, one he'd long since torn to pieces. It was armor an old, distant friend had made for him. Made and then later destroyed the son he would've passed the armor to, Jicoln's own legacy. He wondered distantly if Artus had made the _beskar_ pieces that covered his daughter's frame, too, watching as she stepped close to the vehicle to look down at the metal plate. Probably, he thought. _Manda_, but she was well worth it!

She had seized his _Alii'jate_, a tooth from a beast he'd hunted long ago on the world of Dxun. Then she snatched up his _Yai'me'suum_. That was a small shell he'd carried in his pocket as a boy, long ago on Mandalore itself. He'd heard her give out a shout when she took his _Sterebiise_, rolling with the prize clutched to her chest when he shot a bolt towards her belly, determined to destroy her. But she'd managed to take it, to walk away with Aily's helmet. That was the loss that still made him ache, left his eyes burning even now as he stared down at her.

A daughter worthy of the word, worthy of calling _ad_. That's what she was. Damn Artus to hell for having such a child of his own, when he'd lost his own son. Hell! She was winning! The first, the _Alii'jate_, he'd assumed was little more than luck. That, and a bit of skill. She'd used the Devaronian's sniper fire to counter his own, placing the man in a strategic spot, precisely the right place every time. He'd call her _alor'ad_, if he were still fighting alongside warriors of the _Mando'ad, _she was _that_ skilled.

But when she seized up his _Sterebiise _he knew she was privy to details, to insights of him that only someone who truly knew him would have boasted. Not even Artus had fought aside him long enough to learn him, learn his techniques, not so well as this. His mind swirled, trying to figure out how she'd managed it.

She crept even closer to the _Naast_, now, her fingers clenched into fists. He admired the curve of her back, the way her dark hair brushed the top edge of her armor as she twisted her head around to try and find him. He angled his rifle, raising it as he poised to take the shot, breathed out slowly. She'd just managed to grasp the thing in one small, gloved hand when he let the bolt fly.

But he jerked at the last second, closing his eyes against the spray of pebbled stone that flew up and into his face when a rifle bolt impacted the edge of the ruin where he was lying prone. Fucking Devaronian! He snarled, knowing even as he rolled that his shot would've only wounded the woman. He moved fast, running at first, tracking towards her quickly, determined to destroy her now, before she could find the place where he'd made his resting place. She couldn't be allowed to win this fight! No! She was his revenge, the taking of her life to replace the life of his son, to fling back into Artus' face what that kind of loss felt like!

He stopped when he heard her talking, though. She was huddled behind that damned ruined vehicle, hiding among some weeds that had grown up around its tracks. The Devaronian had beat him to her, and they were grumbling to each other. He crept closer, his rifle clutched in his fingers, breathing slowly as he considered them.

"Shit, yer bleeding, Kas. Kid's not going to be too happy bout that. Protective as hell, isn't he?"

"Just hand me that cauterizer. Dammit, this hurts!"

"Here, you silly woman. Unbuckle the armor, there. It'll help you reach the damn spot. Move your bloody fingers out of the way!"

"Stay focused! Jicoln could take advantage of me being down this long."

The Devaronian grunted. "That Mando of yours will take him apart if he knows he'd already made you bleed. I get the feeling he can be pretty bloodthirsty given the chance. Maybe you should reconsider making him a daddy for your kids."

"Shut up, Gault."

"Yea, yea. First things first. You know, like getting him into a nearby bed, huh?"

"Shut UP, Gault!" There was a hiss, then, as the woman applied a stim to her wounded side. She sighed, then. "I … he's moving onto Jicoln's base, said he'd found the place. It's that old wreck of a ship, the big one."

"The one shot down just before the bombardment? Well, he'd know if it was Jicoln's, wouldn't he? Managed to find all these little trophy-things for you."

"Yea. He's good, isn't he?"

"Hey, if he's half as good in bed, you're set!"

"Shut up, Gault, gods! Come on, we've got to move fast."

But she was wounded, bleeding. And Jicoln was already moving.

* * *

**_...The _Sterebiise___, who defends a legacy_**

_"I met Darth Malgus once, Kas. A fearsome creature, scarred and burned almost beyond recognition. But powerful! He would look at you and you could feel it -this awe-inspiring fear that simply burned along your spine. He could do that with a glance, just a mere shift of his eyes!" Kastiel shuddered at the thought of facing that sort of figure, her dark eyes wide as her pouty little mouth hung open. Tamerie shook her finger towards them, where she bounced on her da's knee._

_"Lucien! Don't frighten her with stories of your battles!"_

_He shook his head. "Kastiel is stronger than you think, Tam, trust me." He leaned over, staring seriously into Kastiel's gaze. "Darth Malgus demanded I attend to his twi'lek slave after the sacking of Coruscant, you see. She'd been injured during the battle on the planet below. It was Lord Adraas on the _Steadfast _who'd refused her treatment, they told me. Darth Malgus was enraged when he found her at a hospital on the surface of the planet, left to rot among the basest of the Republic's wounded. He beat back the crowd to carry her off, carried her to the _Valor _himself, and then called for doctors to aid her. I went, because of my experience treating twi'leks who'd been captured on the battlefield."_

_"She was a pretty little thing, with pale blue skin. Her name was Eleena Daru. I saw the way he looked at her, when I was attending to her injuries. I didn't say anything, of course. You don't expose such secrets when it comes to the Sith. They consider love to be a weakness, whether it's love of friends, family, or lovers - they exploit and abuse it whenever it's exposed. So that when a Sith loves it's hidden away, out of sight. That's why I stayed quiet when I regarded the Darth's consideration of Daru."_

_Kastiel exclaimed, then, "Like momma!"_

_"Exactly, dearling. Just like I love your momma."_

* * *

Torian curled into himself, bending over as if to hold his stomach against pain. He heard the oncoming step, the pressing approach the traitor was making towards him. He wrapped his arm across his lower abdomen, glancing over quickly at his electrostaff where it was propped against a nearby bend of the door that lead into this particular section of the downed ship. His last transmission with her burned through his mind, settled into him.

_"He's not here, Torian. Took a shot, though."_

_"Yea, and hit that soft place right there across your side, Kas! Have you stopped bleeding yet? Give me that fucking tool, maybe you're not using it right."_

_"Damn it, Gault, shut the hell up already! Torian! He's not here, did you hear me? He has to be headed your way. We're moving, but he'll probably beat us to you."_

He'd made her bleed, Torian thought, now. He panted roughly, working to calm himself as he waited, and listened to Jicoln's movements through the ship's abandoned corridors. The ship, the _Endar Spire_. He'd seen the name across the ruined bow of the craft when he crawled inside of the thing, wondered only briefly as to the final moments the crew must have suffered as it hurtled towards the ground. Now it only served as a hiding place for pirates and criminals. For traitors, too, he thought, looking towards the pallet where Jicoln's brief number of possessions were gathered.

The traitor stayed mobile, anyway. Everything he kept was small, simple, all of it easily portable. He could probably toss the things into a single bag and be on the move again. Torian frowned towards the child's muzzlian squill, a small trinket found commonly in countless starport shops. He shook his head against the poignancy of the thing placed so carefully among Jicoln's personal effects. He'd never doubted Jicoln's care, anyway.

His honor, though? Jicoln's honor was more than questionable. And its lacking had hindered Torian the whole of his life. What he wanted, now, depended on finally clearing aside Jicoln's dishonor.

_He made her bleed_. Torian sighed when he heard Jicoln step into the room. He kept his head bent down, panting as if he was injured. The blinking lights of Torian's traps filled the space, their red glare providing a rather appropriate backdrop to the confrontation, he thought. His tousled hair fell forward against his forehead. He distantly considered he'd need to cut his hair again after this was done, felt the sweat that dripped down across his brow.

"Well. This wasn't what I was expecting. Did you not learn how to properly place a series of explosives, boy?" Jicoln growled the words, his voice gruff with disgust. He moved closer to the downed Mandalorian, eyeing his bent figure with his head hanging low. The young warrior was obviously ashamed of his failure, at least. It was a shame, Jicoln thought, after he'd done so well up to now. "How'd you know me? Who taught you?"

Torian stayed quiet, only loosing a small moan as he waited patiently. Jicoln frowned, stepping closer. He watched as the warrior shook his head, curling tighter as he seemed to cringe backwards. Not unusual for a man to be afraid in his final moments. But it was hardly what he would've expected from the battling warrior he'd witnessed at the transport station. It just didn't fit, he thought, stepping up to loom solidly over the young blonde-haired figure.

And Torian smiled, his lips curving into a satisfied grin as he exploded upwards from his crouching position. His blade flew swiftly, slicing across the tender flesh of Jicoln's stomach. Blood spurted wildly as Jicoln stumbled backwards, crying out in shock as he fell with a thud onto his ass at Torian's feet. Torian was already leaping towards his staff, swinging around to face Jicoln as the man stumbled back to his feet.

Jicoln glanced down at his stomach, pressed his hand tightly against the bleeding wound there. He grunted. "Underestimated you." He looked up, staring over at Torian with hard, cold eyes. "It won't happen again, boy."

"Not a boy, _dar'manda_. Better warrior than you."

"We'll see."

Jicoln flew at him, holding his _beskad_ high above his head as he yelled out a threatening call. Torian braced himself to meet Jicoln's charge, lifting his own staff to meet the swinging blade that Jicoln brought down in an arc against him. The clang of the weapons striking against each other rang through the place, but Torian was spinning, turning into Jicoln's rush so that the beskad slid down along the side of his staff and caught against the pronged ends of the weapon.

Torian grunted, looking up into Jicoln's startled gaze just briefly. Then he twisted, using his staff to force Jicoln's grip against the beskad. Jicoln swayed, feeling searing pain as his fingers wrenched against the hilt of his blade under Torian's smooth push. Then Torian stepped around, spinning again, so that the other end of his staff flew up and compacted Jicoln against the rigid side of his head.

Jicoln fell back again, his head spinning wildly. He blinked, trying desperately to clear his vision. The young warrior was yelling at him, yelling out, "Traitor!" Jicoln could barely respond, only managed at the last moment to raise his blade to just barely keep the oncoming staff from stealing his final breaths. Jicoln fumbled as he rushed backwards, almost falling over again to put distance between himself and the warrior fighting him.

He's beating me, Jicoln thought. He would _win_! Jicoln was stunned, looking blearily over at the young man as he pondered the ending of his life. For just a moment the thought of it all being over was almost comforting. And then anger came, ripped through him. Not again, not one more time would he lose! The last time, he'd lost his clan, lost his wife and his son. He'd lost what chance he had to be remembered! He would not lose the chance for revenge. Not now.

This warrior had maintained his balance from the very start. That was what he needed to tear away from him, to ruin and devastate him, even more than he needed to counter the man's tenacious skill. He had to upset his balance. _It's the only chance I have_, he thought. Break him, here, and he might break the woman, too. Use their care for each other against them, he thought.

Jicoln snorted against the sweat that dampened his upper lip. He held up his hand, soaked with his own blood, and grinned sardonically at the droplets that ran down over his wrist and arm. "She bled more."

Torian stopped, his fingers clenching tight against his staff as he stared at the traitor, at the blood washing down from his hand. Jicoln felt his stomach twist at the look in the young man's eyes. But he pushed it away, feeling the desperation beating harder at him. He had to break him, and the warrior was already narrowing his eyes again.

"Not that she bled too much, mind you. Easily fixed. I think she was working at that when I came here, even." Jicoln canted his head, appearing thoughtful. "Woman like that is almost worth keeping, don't you think? If I were a younger man, I might keep her for good, make her a bride. But no. Those days are long past me now." He leaned forward, his eyes intent on the young warrior, on the gathering rage the man was struggling with. "No, now I'd just keep her long enough to soothe the itch that comes from being so long without a bit of female flesh to make use of."

Jicoln watched him break, the angry rage that burst across his face as he snarled back at him, "You'll not touch her." But this time, the man was reeling, bitterly enraged, and Jicoln was able to catch his advance with his own bull rush of movement. He seized the younger warrior, thrusting his large, beefy shoulder into the upper part of Torian's chest, and he compelled him backwards in a terrible force of motion. Torian lost his grip on his staff, heard distantly the thud of his weapon against the floor. But they were still moving, as Jicoln forced them both back into the dull grey wall of the ship behind him.

Torian struck the wall with tremendous power. Jicoln grunted, using every bit of his strength to push against the smaller warrior's chest. The sound of Torian's ribs breaking burst through the space. But Torian only hissed, releasing his breath slowly under the tremendous assault. His brown eyes met Jicoln's, glaring, but Torian couldn't speak the curses that rose in his throat.

Jicoln backed away, watched the younger man lean back at first, then slide down against the curved wall, until he was hunkered there along the floor. He spit at him, leaving a bloody trail against the floor in front of him. Jicoln sighed as he looked down, eyeing the gory insult. He clenched his fingers against the hilt of his _beskad_, stepping forward to deliver the killing blow. And hating himself virulently as he contemplated the determined protectiveness the man showed as he knelt there, wearily gripping the handle of his long-edged dagger as he watched Jicoln approach.

Jicoln understood that sort of determination, remembered what it was to fight breathlessly, to the last, just to earn another moment – just one more day for that precious life a Mandalorian man was obligated to protect, to provide for. He knew what it was to fight for a woman, for the chance to love her, love her children. He hated taking that from this man, giving him the sense he'd lost her, instead. It was cruel, torturous, what he'd done, the fear he'd left in him.

That's why he was almost grateful when the explosive clanging of a hatch bursting open from one of the nearby corridors blasted through the space. Jicoln glanced towards the doorway, where the sounds of a woman calling for him pealed, his own name echoing through the ship's long dormant hallways. "Jicoln! Jicoln Cadera! Face me, damn you! Because I swear to every god there is I'll peel the fucking skin from your body if you've killed him!" He actually chuckled as he looked over at his young opponent, leaning forward slightly as he pressed his fist against the blood still seeping thickly from his stomach.

"She's a real spitfire, that one."

Torian only glared back at him, breathing shallowly to keep his broken ribs from injuring his lungs any further. "You'll not … touch her," he gasped.

Jicoln shook his head, his eyes full of regret. He turned away, grabbing up the small items he'd tucked into the alcove of the space. Torian watched him pick up that silly muzzlian squill before throwing it into his pack. The traitor looked again towards the doorway, listening to the pounding gait of the woman's boots, the calls of her Devaronian companion as he scolded her. "Traps, Kas! Shit! Explosives everywhere! Dammit, woman, slow the fuck down!"

Torian threatened him one last time, his voice thready, "She'll come after you … kill you. Can't stop … her. She won."

Jicoln shrugged as he turned to run away. "I lost a long time ago, actually."

* * *

**... And the _Naast_, who destroys it ...**

_Her father's wife was a lovely woman. She was small, curvy like a willowy creature from some long ago myth. One of those winged things her mother used to tell her of when she was even younger. Her hair looked like spun gold, even. It hung down her back looking like some sort of glittering curtain of satin. There's no way any one might suppose the two raven-haired children that followed behind her, as she moved in stately formality through the market, were her own offspring. They looked like nothing so much as a pair of twins in her service, in fact. She seemed almost to treat them that way, too. She even snapped her fingers towards Lusiel when the girl lagged only a bit against the side of a table that displayed lengths of pretty fabrics._

_Kastiel remembered something her father had said to her own mother ages ago, as he described the children he shared with his wife. Not that he'd intended Kas to hear, of course. He rarely ever spoke of his wife, in fact. Not when he was there with Tamerie and their own little ones. But he spoke endlessly of Kas' sister and brother, of his pride and love of them, and how much he wished they were as much a part of Kas' life as he himself was. That day, though, he'd been leaning back in a chair there in Tamerie's kitchen, thinking himself well out of the range of the children's notice._

_"You have no idea, Tam. They look nothing like her! It's like nothing of her even chanced to show up in either one of them, like she never even existed except as a receptacle for their birth. I thank every one of the old gods for it, too. I only hope they remain as much mine and nothing of her as they grow, too. She disgusts me!"_

_Kastiel watched them now, her eyes following her sister and brother as they moved along behind their mother. Khyriel looked exactly like Gaib, she thought. Except that his mother kept his hair slickened back. She probably used some kind of oil, even. The little five year-old boy looked disgusted as he sniffed against the smell of the stuff. She giggled, knowing he wanted nothing more than to shake his head free of the stiff style it had been forced into. She was watching him so intently she completely missed Lusiel, who'd glided close enough she caught sight of Kas standing there, and gasped._

_"Hello. You look like me." _

_Kastiel gaped back at her mere months-older sister. "Hello," she stammered, staring. The two girls stood there, stunned almost. And then Karen saw them, shrieked out, "Lusiel Phyre! Who is that child?"_

_Kastiel ran. She ran as fast as she could, almost sprinting through the gathering of people there in the market. She ran back towards her mother, shopping the stalls where they stacked fruits and vegetables. She ran fast. But she was already too late._

* * *

**The _Geroya be Haran_ was a rare Mandalorian challenge, used to settle disputes over questions of personal honor between two antagonists. It was considered the most serious sort of confrontation between two Mandalorians, because the penalty for the loser wasn't only death. In fact, the loser was literally wiped clean from Mandalorian history. Every one of his honors, his achievements was set aside, expunged from verbal and written history as if they'd never existed. The severity of the penalty made the challenge extraordinarily rare, enough that it had fallen almost totally out of use by the time the Battle of Yavin occured.**

**There's some small indication the challenge harkens back to a victory by the Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders during the Mandalorian Wars.**

**Also, a muzzlian squill was a small child's toy. A trinket commonly found for sale in spaceports, by parents heading home to their youngsters. Not unusual to think a Mandalorian might pick it up to carry home as a gift for his son.**

**Finally, I'm going to apologize up front if my HTML for this file doesn't work as well as I'd hoped. I've been trying to get the lines to show up where they need to be and keep getting a strange absence of the things in some places. Here's hoping the posting of the file will clear it up. If not, I'll work at fixing it over the next few hours, sigh.**


	61. Chapter 60 -- Healing Hours

Torian felt the gliding touch of fingers against the bare skin of his side, where it still hurt, and he jerked awake, his eyes flowing open as he grabbed at the hand smoothing against him. She tumbled against him, hard enough she bumped up against his aching ribs, so that he hissed angrily in pained shock. He glared up into her brown eyes, felt her tug against the hard hold he maintained on her wrist. But he'd frozen with her in place, held her tightly, and she finally just dropped her gaze down towards his bare chest.

Torian followed her gaze and stopped. Kastiel had dropped her armored breastplate as she worked to repair his broken ribs. One of her hands was still lying across Torian's bare stomach, well above the seam of his trousers, although she continued trying to pull herself back up and away from him. But all he really saw, looking down past her bent head, was the gaping opening of her under-tunic as she leaned against him. He groaned as he watched her pert nipples beading against the taut band that cupped her breasts, the rivulets of sweat that ran down against that soft flesh.

Kastiel's focus, though, was still on his twinging side. "I spent hours stitching your chest back together, Torian. Don't mess up my work, here."

He slowly loosened his grip on her wrist. Kastiel carefully raised herself back to stand there alongside the table where he lay. She pushed back her dark hair, so that he was able to see the dark circles under her tired eyes. He frowned at her, then he looked around. "Where are we?"

"The _Endar Spire's_ med bay was still the most sterile location in the vicinity, so we lugged your broken self down here and tossed you up onto one of their tables. Lucky for you, huh?" She grinned at him, but he was still confused.

"Jicoln?"

Kastiel shrugged. "He was already gone by the time we got past the traps."

Torian tried lunging up but Kastiel slapped her hands roughly against his shoulders, pushing him back until he lay prone against the table again and growling down at him to remain still. "You let him get away!" Torian snarled at her, his eyes dark with anger. She lifted her chin, defensive.

"There's blood all over the place, and not yours, either. That man's not going much farther than I got you. We'll track him down, together."

"You should have left me! You take a foolish risk letting him get away from you! _Ja__reor! _Stupid." He spoke with recrimination, making it plain that he thought her the fool in the situation.

She didn't flinch, though. She only pressed her lips together, stiffening into rigid attention as she raised herself back to a standing position again. She gathered herself, there, looking splendid and determined. Fierce. He actually felt himself harden as he watched her eyes go dark and iron-tough. She looked like the leader of men he knew she was as she crossed her arms across her chest. That she could excite him with nothing more than a look in her eyes just stunned him all over again, and he couldn't help but settle back against the table. The impulse to obey her, obey that command so implicit in her bearing, was just _that_ compelling.

Kastiel spoke then, her tone flat and impersonal. "I made the call. I'd do it again, idiot or not." She glanced over, so that Torian noticed Gault leaning against the far wall. She lifted her chin as she addressed the Devaronian, "Two hours, okay? He'll bleed all over again if the kolto patches are disrupted before they settle in place."

"I'll set a timer to it, Kas. Believe me. He won't move. Go and get some damn rest, for pity's sake." Gault ambled across the floor towards the table as Kastiel reached over to grab her armor. Torian eyed her backside for a moment, but she was too quick for his liking right then. She stood back up, her armor held under her arm as she strode out of the bay, not looking back at him as she stepped over a bit of debris that had managed to fall in between the bay doors so that they didn't close straight. He sighed as she went, looking around at the ruined room with a weary gaze.

"She'll not go far, will she? Might be others in here, nearby. Pirates, maybe." Torian asked, his tone heavy as he glanced towards the wall where Gault had dumped Torian's armor and weapons. He wondered whether he'd manage to grab the stuff before Gault was able to stop him, and he felt his side twinge with pain once again. Doubted it.

Gault chuckled, and Torian's gaze shot to the man. The Devaronian was tapping his chin with a long, slender finger as he seemed to consider. "Mando, in the mood she's in right now any pirate dumb enough to be somewhere inside this ship would be damn sorry to meet her. Seems there's any number of interesting reactions you're able to entice from her." Torian shifted, but Gault pressed against his shoulder, holding him in place. "And trust me. _I_ am not stupid, like your friggin' Mandalorian idiot self that goes off spouting nonsense before thinking. You'll stay still, like she said."

Torian closed his eyes, sighing. "Hurt her feelings."

He didn't see but he could imagine Gault shrugging. The man's tone seemed nonchalant as he responded, anyway. "There are only a few people who can do that so easily, in fact."

Torian opened his eyes again and leveled a stare towards Gault, frowning. "Tell me about them. The people who're important to her. Who are they?"

Gault grinned as he leaned against the table, "Well, we've got a couple hours to waste, don't we? Think I could fill two hours with tales of my exploits?" Torian sighed loudly. But Gault only laughed. "Guess it's not really me you want to know about. And Mako's pretty obvious, too. We're not the ones you're asking about." Gault leaned forward, staring intently enough that he was certain whatever the man was about to say was important. "Want to know what happened to her after her mother was killed and a group of Mandalorians picked her up off the ground, huh?"

Torian sucked in a breath, feeling the stitch of pain against his healing side. He'd known his lungs were punctured, had felt the blood bubbling there against the tender wounds inside. That Kastiel was proficient enough a healer to open up his side to patch his lungs in such precarious battlefield conditions was yet another testament to her tenacity and skill. Once again she'd proved herself utterly and incredibly _capable_. She was extraordinary.

He wanted her, felt desperate with the desire to call her _his_ to every fighter and warrior they came across, to make certain no one else tried laying claim to her – and he hated that he'd hurt her enough she'd trudged off into dangerous circumstances without backup or support. The tumult of feelings was almost overwhelming to him right then.

So he nodded at Gault, concentrating on the man's stories of the woman he loved, where she came from and what she'd accomplished, in order to avoid thinking of his own foolish blunders. "Tell me."

* * *

Kastiel found the ship's old water supply. There were several tanks looming in that section, large hulking shapes that filled the space, made great dark shadows against the walls, there. Only one of them retained a pretty impressive supply of water, though. She tested it carefully, scanning it with smooth, proficient motions, and smiled happily when she realized it was probably more sterile than any other water source she'd come across on Taris. Spoke well of the ship's original engineers, too.

She worked methodically to replace her supply of potable water, filling several jugfilters, enough to ensure none of them would become dehydrated anytime soon. Then she eyed the tap on the tank, consideringly.

It did take her a while to find something big enough to contain a goodly supply of water. In the end, Kastiel pushed and pulled an old cold crate, one that had long since stopped working – pushed it towards the tank until it was perched under the tap so she could fill it with water. A hot bath would've been preferable, of course. But Kastiel was perfectly capable of making do with what was available.

She stripped quickly, laying her weapons within easy reach before she climbed naked into the water-filled crate. She sat only briefly, long enough to soak her slim body, before standing up straight again. She used a length of rough cloth from an old torn shirt to wash against her skin, pulling the makeshift towel across her curves so that the dirt and grime of the past few days ran down her frame to settle against the bottom of the improvised tub. She shivered against the cold of the water, feeling her skin pulling tautly from the shock of coolness. She held the cloth against the ridged muscles of her stomach, hoping to warm herself, even if only slightly, and closed her eyes as heavy rivulets of water ran down her stomach and down across her thighs.

And that was the moment Torian found her. Everything stopped. He wasn't able to breathe for a moment, even. He only stood there, frozen as he watched her.

Kastiel was slender, her body a fit and pert example of a healthy human female. The skin of her torso was even more pale than her face and hands. Almost the color of the Arkanian sweet milk that Torian loved to drink, in fact. Her skin along her chest and abdomen was soft-looking, fresh and smooth, nearly unblemished except for a few brief scars along the lower part of her stomach. That, and the vivid red line from her recent run-in with Jicoln against her side were the only imperfections he could see.

Her stomach was firm and well-muscled, rising over the sweetest flat belly, although he could just make out the twinkle of a luminescent gem nestled gently into the tiny curve of her belly button. He almost groaned as it reflected the soft light of the space when she twisted around to gather some more water with the cloth in her hands. Maybe he hissed, though, because she suddenly became aware of him, turning quickly to look over at him with her dark brown eyes wide.

She raised her hands up to cover her breasts, and he did groan aloud then as they disappeared from sight. Torian wondered absently what words he could use to describe such perfection as those globes. They were just a bit too large for her frame, the mounds swelling even against her own fingers. But they were flawless, round, shaped almost exactly like the sweet citrus fruits that made for bursts of flavor against a man's tongue, and topped with gently pink nipples that he wanted more than anything to taste.

The cloth was still dripping water, though, and he watched in fascination as it continued dripping down over her torso into the soft black curls between her legs. "Torian?" He snapped his gaze back up to her face, then, watched as she pushed her wet hair back from her eyes as she looked at him uncertainly. She was nervous, he realized, watching as she ran her fingers softly across her implants. He took a deep breath before he finally spoke, but his voice was still gruff as the words came.

"I'm sorry."

She bit her lower lip. Torian felt himself pulse even harder as he watched her pull at that soft bit of flesh with her teeth. "What're you sorry for?"

He looked at her, his head canting softly to the side. "For what I said to you before. I was upset at my own failure and spoke without thinking."

"Oh. But … you're not sorry for ... About now, I mean."

His eyes turned molten, burning, until they gleamed at her like golden flames. He stood there, patient as ever, just showing her himself, that he wanted her. "No. I'm not sorry for this." _Never would be_, he thought.

"Oh. Okay." Kastiel shook her head uncertainly as she looked back down towards her toes that were still immersed in the water that filled the crate. She wasn't sure what to say, felt like her tongue was some useless thing just lying there in her mouth. "You're not still hurt …?"

"No. Why I came looking for you. Been more than two hours."

She looked back up towards him, at the way he kept watching her. She felt heat blooming between her legs, and she shifted against the unfamiliar sensation. She'd never felt more off-balance. She wondered what the hell she'd do if someone chose that moment to burst in on them with a weapon upraised. Shit, she'd probably be shot full of holes before she even knew they were there. Then she reconsidered, glancing down his own figure. He'd pulled his armor back on, and damn it, she missed the way he'd looked without it.

But she had no single doubt he'd take apart anyone who tried coming in here with a threat bared. And that heightened the heat between her legs, too. She frowned at such an alien, disparate sensation, the sense of satisfaction and excitement that came from knowing someone was watching out for her, rather than expecting her to protect them. She felt … weirdly uncertain.

"I'll dress." She clambered out of the makeshift tub and began yanking on her clothes. She missed the way he swallowed as he watched her motions. When she glanced back at him, in fact, he'd looked away. Kastiel pulled her clothes on quickly. But she didn't rush in putting her armor into place. She always gave care to her armor and how well secured it was up against her body. A goodly-placed shot could do a tremendous amount of damage, so that it was imperative she was always aware of every little vulnerable spot.

Torian moved close to her, fingering the buckles against the lower side of Kastiel's breastplate, just above the curve of her hip. "Lift your arm out of the way, Kas," he breathed. He felt the gravest sort of masculine satisfaction as she complied, lifting her arm up so that he could tighten the buckles that held the plates of armor against her skin. He ran his fingers up and down the seam, there, checking one last time to ensure the armor was snug against her, listening to her sigh. Then he stepped back, secure in the understanding she'd just gifted him with – that she'd entrusted him with her safety and protection.

It was enough for now, he thought.

* * *

**_Jareor _means "reckless or foolish risk of your life". When some action is regarded as stupid or foolhardy, rather than particularly brave, in fact. **

**Arkanian sweet milk is a creamy and very strong type of mead, in fact. It was brewed on the planet of Arkania.**

**Cold crates were electronically chilled containers that were used to transport cargo via starship. They came in a variety of sizes, though the most common was basically the size of a footlocker type of box. There was usually a cryogenic unit at the end of the crate that would work to keep the inner temperature of the box constantly low.**

**Finally, a water jugfilter was a liquid container typically found in survival kits or a soldiers' gear. The containers had an internal filter capable of decontaminating water. The length of time of the process depended on how tainted the water was. Once completed, a small green light at the top would signal the water was safe for consumption.**


	62. Chapter 61 -- By the way

Brye rubbed against the bottom edge of his eye mask with one slender finger, thoughtful as he regarded the image of Master Jun Seros on the holoterminal, looking aside only briefly as the Twi'lek called Zenith entered the nearby conference room. Zenith seemed to burn with a dark, terrible fervor, so potent Brye could almost taste it. There was threat there, he thought to himself. But he still _liked_ Zenith, too, and hoped the man might find a better future for himself. One that worked to soothe his ardent impulse towards a violent vengeance, at least.

Darkness won over a spirit through such steps, even if they seemed at first reasonable, even worthwhile. Such had been Brye's experience, anyway. He wondered that Master Jun had seemed to forget that somewhat remarkable perspective, here.

"You're the Barsen'thor, Master Brye." Jun Seros was saying as he leaned closer to the terminal, so that his image appeared to loom over Brye's smaller figure. Not that Brye was intimidated. He had pondered, in fact, if fate had purposefully made for his diminutive frame to somehow compensate for the grasping strength of the Force he possessed. A balance, he supposed. Just some small measure to remind him, always, of how precious it was, that no great power was to be had without equal sacrifice.

"That I am the Barsen'thor is reason enough, Master Jun, for me to question your motivations in this regard. I wonder if you seek justice, as much as retribution."

Brye watched as Jun's eyes widened. Brye was the one who'd beaten back a darkness determined to overwhelm some of the Order's greatest masters, a feat that had earned him the title of Barsen'thor, the Warden of the Order. To have _him_ pondering such a chance was … Jun seemed to shake himself. "Perhaps when you've gained more experience, you will better appreciate what justice requires of us, as Jedi, rather."

Brye only shrugged his slim shoulders, appearing calmly unperturbed. Castigations of his youth were common enough, as well. Qyzen sometimes called him "Hatchling", even, insisting that the word "fit the Herald". Brye wasn't sure if the Trandoshan referred to his age or his size when he used the term, actually. He did know meant it as an expression of respect, as if to fool those in Qyzen's hearing into underestimating the Sage he followed so faithfully. He often told Brye, "_They think because your years are as small as your body, that they can easily overcome you. It's amusing to watch them learn better_."

"You are perhaps correct, of course. I imagine I will learn much, given the passage of years." Brye canted his head thoughtfully as he looked back at Jun Seros' image. "Have you approached the Council to describe your intentions, Master Jun?"

Jun frowned. "I was hoping that the combined considerations of the Order's Battlemaster and its Barsen'thor would convince the Council of the righteousness of the endeavor."

This time, Brye did not obscure his tired sigh. He was still covered in the dust and sweat of recent days spent among the rebels and fighters in Balmorra's war, below. That, and trying one last time to save the shattered mind of Balmorra's previous President had sapped his energy to a truly dangerous level. He could see Theran standing impatiently near the doorway even now. He imagined the man would tap his foot pretty soon if Brye dragged the conversation out very much further. His companions were familiar with his tendency to give more than was asked of him, even and up to his last bit of strength. It wouldn't be the first time he'd simply collapsed to the floor from sheer exhaustion, anyway. Nor would it matter in the least to any of them the sense of doom he felt as he considered Jun Seros' impending course.

"Master Jun, I implore you not to continue down this path. I sense no good will come of it."

"Justice must be done, Master Brye." Jun Seros pressed his lips tightly together. Brye felt the intensity of his zeal, even through the holo, and it troubled him. Perhaps because it was so much similar to the vehemence he'd felt in another more flawed and broken Jedi only months earlier. "This hunter made Kellian Jarro's life into a mere score, a prize in a game. She _murdered_ him. And earned nothing more than a fancy title, maybe some trinkets, as a result."

Brye nodded solemnly, remembering the reports he'd read that described Jedi Master Kellian Jarro's death. "But was it not Master Kellian who destroyed hundreds of Mandalorians, years past? They say he nearly wiped out an entire clan of those people. It was their need for revenge which brought such a terrible end to that noble Jedi. More revenge, in turn, will only invite further pain and tragedy. Master Jun, please. Do not do this."

"You're wrong, in thinking I seek revenge. This is a question, rather, of justice. Leaving this hunter free to do more harm is what would be truly dangerous, I believe."

Brye held up one gloved hand tiredly, its crimson color so obscured by thick layers of dust and dirt from the planet below that it appeared more brown than red. He was done. Theran had started tapping his foot, even. "I understand your feelings, Master Jun. But I can not support you in this effort. I hope you will set it aside, rather. Before your anger destroys you."

"You do not understand, I see. I will not concern you with this any further." Jun Seros' image disappeared suddenly, although his lingering sense of angry dissatisfaction remained. Brye stood there, staring at the empty holoterminal for several moments. He startled when Theran suddenly cleared his throat, loudly. It was a testament to his weariness that the scientist had managed to come so much closer without his sensing the approach.

"Come now, Jedi. I have some hot stimcaf prepared. It should enliven you just enough to finish your meetings with our visiting dignitaries. Afterwards I'll give you a sedative so that you sleep at least a full day. Before your body finally gives out. Again, mind you."

"Of course, Theran. And thank you. Please bring me a cup. You're right, I'll need it." He ignored the admonishment for rest, only leaned over and tapped at several buttons on the terminal in front of him. Theran watched him for a moment, the slight seventeen year-old who's sheer mastery of the Force continued to amaze him, before he turned to leave. He glanced back one last time just as a new image took shape on the holo, saw the figure of an exceedingly pretty dark-haired woman smiling at the Sage.

"Brye! I only just heard that you'd already left Balmorra. I was under the impression we'd meet beforehand, though. I'm disappointed."

"I am truly sorry, Cam. I was hoping we could meet, yes. I believe it would be better, however, if our meeting took place on Tython, rather. There are matters to bring to the Council's attention, I believe …"

And the door closed.

* * *

Kastiel reached out to place a single finger against the small splotch of blood on the pole of the bare-looking lean-to that some group of pirates, probably, had abandoned years earlier. She eyed the ground around the shattered remains of the structure, looking at the twisted and roughened soil where someone had stepped. She grunted at the sight of a palm print, or half of one at least, there in the dirt up against the ripped tarp of the lean-to's wall.

Torian crouched next to her, then, leaning over to glance into the structure's interior. "Only minimal supplies. And not half your skill at healing, Kas. He'll have to keep moving, and that means he'll be opening his wounds again."

Kas turned her head to look at him, slid her gaze down along the strong cords of his neck as he brought his head back around to look over at her. They stayed there for a long moment, crouched low nearby the lean-to, just looking at each other. Her lips parted softly as she breathed, shifting along the heels of her boots as she stayed crouched down, there. His mouth twitched as her eyes turned warm and hungry, then confused as she struggled to understand her own feelings. That they were unfamiliar to her was obvious, and the pleasure of that understanding settled in him, made him feel heavy with possessive intent. She didn't understand the look he gave her, then, either, and her deep-seated confusion deepened.

"You know, it occurs to me that mucking around in the dirt isn't that pleasant. I'm going to stop being bummed trying to figure out what the hell you're looking for there, anyway."

Kastiel and Torian looked towards Gault at the same time, blinking at him with identical expressions of surprised confusion on their faces. Gault actually laughed aloud as he regarded them where they still crouched in the dirt next to the bare-looking trash heap of a shelter. "You guys look so fucking Mandalorian right now it's not even funny. And that is _not_ a compliment, mind you," he told them, laughing.

Kas grinned at him as she stood back up. "You're just pissed that Torian looks better without his pants on than you do." Torian raised an eyebrow at her, wondering when it was she'd seen him without pants. Yet another reason, he supposed, to be sorry for the loss of blood he'd suffered after his recent confrontation with Jicoln.

"Hey, all that means is you haven't shot him in the ass. Yet. Give him some time, Kas, and he'll piss you off just enough. Or maybe you'll shoot him in the ass just so you can get a gander at his butt, who knows?" Gault chuckled at her merrily.

She looked towards Torian as he came back to his feet, smiling lightly when he noticed she was watching his buttocks flex as he stood back up. She shrugged, then, her mouth stretched wide in a floppy sort of grin, "I'm not sure I'd have to shoot him. He may let me see, just to make me happy. He's nice like that."

Torian actually grinned, then. "Show you, yes. Name the place, even. But not Gault. That would be … wrong."

Gault burst out laughing. "Oh, trust me, my fine Mandalorian friend. And believe me there's irony in my calling any born and bred Mandalorian a friend, by the by. But I'm quite certain I don't want to get any peeks at your cheeks, either. Keep your pants _on_."

The chirp of Kastiel's commlink disrupted them at their teasing banter. Kastiel sighed dramatically over the interruption, muttering to herself, "What, do they somehow _know_ when I'm actually having a bit of fun, sheesh?" But her grinning countenance disappeared as the man's image took shape on her link. Disappeared fast. Torian frowned at the look on her face. Gault murmured some sort of worried sound as he pulled the Mando soldier back away from the view of the fellow, although they both lingered within earshot.

"Have you been discovered?" Kastiel's voice was formal, hard and business-like. Torian realized he was listening to the Champion, the pure hunter. As if the laid-back woman of moments earlier didn't even exist.

"No. I remain secure where you left me, actually. Your efforts at keeping me hidden proved rather impressive, in fact. You should consider marketing the skill. It's quite nearly as remarkable as your ability to _find_ people."

"Cut the crap. You wouldn't contact me to give me career advice. What's wrong?"

Torian narrowed his eyes as he examined the man's image, memorizing his face and figure carefully. He had a light dusting of dark hair on his head, as if it was growing back after being shorn for a long time. His skin was dusky, even tanned. Wherever he was, there was a good supply of sunshine, it seemed. All that, and he seemed unaffected by the hunter's brisk business-like attitude. Rather anticipated it, in fact. Not an enemy, no. But not exactly an ally, either. Not trusted. There was a particular message in Gault's deliberate ignoring of the exchange, in fact. He was hiding. Himself at least, and Torian especially. _She doesn't want this man to know of me_, Torian thought.

The human pressed his face closer to the link, his eyes deadly serious. "You told me to contact you if he was threatened. I'm contacting you."

Kastiel's eyes went starkly dark, like the rippling waters of a pool late at night. One where a hungry beast lurked deeply, just waiting to consume a man, most like. Torian scowled as he sensed her distress. "You said they wouldn't do it so long as he was useful. He's barely twenty years-old. He's healthy, has years left in which they can twist and pull him before he's all used up. So why the fuck would they do this now?"

The man shrugged, looked almost nonchalant. If it wasn't for the dead look in his eyes, Torian would think he didn't even care, and never mind Kastiel's anger. But that look … it was too orchestrated, too deliberate. _He's absolutely enraged_, Torian thought. "It isn't the Empire that's done it. He's their prize right now, their golden goose, if you will. No, hunter. He's been compromised, sold out. By who, I don't know. Not yet."

"How long?"

"If he were anyone else, I'd give him mere months. But him? He's _your_ brother. And his mind is exceptionally powerful. Maybe it's the Sith in him, who knows? He may last a year, longer even. He'll suffer the entire time, though."

"You said you'd save him."

"As I recall, my words were that I would _try_ to save him, actually."

"And what were mine?"

The man simply stared at her. Torian sensed the danger, then, and he started to step closer to Kastiel, fiercely determined to defend her, support her. But Gault grabbed at his arm, hissing softly in his ear, "No! You don't fuck around with these guys. She's useful to him, so she's safe enough."

"Believe me, hunter. I intend to do all that I can to stop this from happening. That's all I can promise you, though. The rest will depend on him. As I said, he's exceptional. He may survive. He may even beat them. We'll see."

Kastiel grimaced, looking briefly towards her men, saw Gault murmuring something into Torian's ear. Torian was shaking his head as he regarded her, lifted his chin towards her when he noticed her looking at them. She smiled wistfully, then, before looking back towards the figure on her link. "Where is he now?" X had been watching her, of course. She imagined it wouldn't take long before he knew exactly who it was who'd been nearby her during this conversation. Who it was she trusted enough to be nearby as she talked to him, at least. _He probably had a good idea who'd donated the sperm that made Mako, in fact_, she thought snidely.

"Taris, of course. He's arrived just two days ago. Fortuitous, don't you think?" Kastiel snorted as the man's image faded away abruptly. She wanted to throw something, hit something. Instead, she tossed her link back into her pack and slumped against a nearby tree, glaring at nothing and everything.

"Is there some reason your baby brothers can't make things easier and just pick one side to share together? I recommend convincing Gaibriel to smuggle his ass on over to Dromund Kaas. Because we're not going to be able to run around Coruscant anytime soon, I don't think." Gault sighed loudly as he leaned against the same tree currently holding Kastiel up. Made himself a perfect target, in fact. Kastiel punched him squarely on the shoulder, hard enough he yelped and rubbed his sore shoulder with a show of weary self-pity.

She looked over at Torian, saw him nod firmly at her. A warrior protected his clan, his family, above all other things. He expected nothing less from her. His easy support was calming, soothing. Gods, she wanted him. She leaned her head back against the bark of the tree, thinking hard, trying to determine a working course.

They'd play their games with her brother, not caring if he paid every price for it. She had a sudden image of him at five, his hair all slicked back with smelly oils. The last time she'd seen him, his hair was longer, trimmed just barely into Imperial regulations against the bottom of his neck. She sighed, now. Her shield of him could only be brief. Anything more would expose him, expose their game to the Empire, too. It would make him even more a target. Damn them to Corellian Hell.

"Gault." Kastiel looked at the Devaronian, serious. "I need your help."

Gault sighed loudly, with dramatic flair. "Figures. Get jumped by a monkey-lizard. And the next thing I know, I'm running around saving the asses of damn Imperial Agents. I knew it. I'm doomed."

* * *

**Recent review asked about the moral alignments of my characters in game. Since I keep pulling into the telling the various characters, and enjoying the flow of the tale as a result, this is perhaps the best place to answer that.**

**So I don't neccessarily stick to any strict rule of moral alignment. Rather, I determine what's truly important to that specific character. What motivates them, personally. In my opinion, every good story gives its characters a defined goal they're striving for. Then hinders them with challenges they need to overcome in order to attain their goal. So that's what I try to incorporate into my considerations of these stories.**

**That being said, the framework of the stories as Bioware has written them does lean one way or another. It's beyond difficult for me to really imagine a light-sided warrior or a dark-sided knight. Given some finangling, the story might work, of course. But it makes the most sense to me, actually, to play them as I think Bioware intended. Canon might be the right word, here.**

**But when it comes to particular choices, I go with my gut, ask myself, "What would this character do in that circumstance?" And that's how I play with alignment. My warrior ended up very dark-side, with a smattering of light-side. Her knight sister, though? Very, very light-side. My smuggler and bounty hunter are fairly neutral, although both lean to the light-side. My agent was the funny one. Tried playing him light-side and couldn't pull it off. He ended up dark-side, like Lusiel, with a few light-side choices here and there. **

**If you're wondering, too. My consular, who I just now introduced, here, is so strictly light-side it's not even funny. I'm being very strict in regards his alignment. But that has very particular reasons, because of his story. Too, my inquisitor is a work in progress. I'm finishing a second playthrough of that story, as I try out the dark-side of that story. I kind of liked her light-side. But this recent playthrough is engaging, too. We'll see.**

**Hope that helps. And thanks much for the reviews, guys! I love hearing from you, believe me.**


	63. Chapter 62 -- Finishing

_Korwis laid his heavy hand against the back of Torian's thin neck, stood there quietly as the boy sniffed back the tears he'd tried to hide from him. Torian plucked against the hem of the shirt he was wearing, wearing at the fabric with his small fingers. He wouldn't look up at Korwis, something Korwis was glad of. Proud, for one. Torian was showing the innate strength of will and character that he knew the boy was capable of._

_He was glad, too, however, that he didn't have to see the pain he was sure lay there in Torian's eyes. Because Korwis was very certain he'd not be able to stop himself from outright killing the one who'd put it there. _That damn son of a bitch_, he thought. The tale was whipping through their small community like wildfire, that Jicoln's son was denied the chance to learn with the other boys, turned away from the small group of children who'd been gathering to hear the stories and sing the songs that helped them appreciate the traditions and customs precious to the _Mando'ad_. "Getcha gone from here, _Aru'tal_! You'll never understand what real honor is, mark my words," the grizzled warrior leading the children had said to him._

_"There's something to be said, Torian, that an eight year-old boy can shame an old fool like that so easily. I'm proud of you," Korwis murmured quietly, his voice thick with feeling. Torian only shrugged, though._

_"I didn't look to shame him, wasn't trying."_

_"I know. But, Torian. You held your head high, you didn't turn away from them as if you deserved anything they said, as if you were ashamed. You were proud, acted with honor. And that is what shamed them, to see such strength in such a young one, even as they questioned it."_

_Torian shook his small head. He watched the turning of the largest moon in the sky, the reddish haze of the evening barely discernible through the dark, tinted windows of the spired-building where they made their home for now. Geonosis was a tough world, where only the hardiest individuals managed to eek out a survival. He had determined long ago he would be like one of the bug people who made this world their own, that he'd be strong enough to prevail, even in the face of enormous challenge. "I only told them the truth. I will show them, Korwis. I'll show them I have honor, that it's _mine_. Not Jicoln's."_

_Korwis grunted. "Yes. That, Torian, is the truth you showed them tonight. That's what they all saw. They saw a true Mandalorian in you. And it was glorious."_

* * *

"Pirate scum! Get your grubby, thieving hands out of that crate!"

Kastiel lifted her head above the edge of the crate, actually raising herself until she was crouched on the very tip of her toes as she regarded the bitter expression on the Imperial soldier's narrow, pinched face. She frowned curiously at them over the open surface of the crate, peering through the dark shadows of the storage shed towards the three soldiers there, her dark eyes glittering. "Been called a lot of things. Not pirate though. I'll have to mark that one down in my little record book."

The man scowled angrily, so that the pitiful little tuft of hair under his thin nose twitched. The pair of grinning soldiers behind him chuckled. He squinted to see her, saw the barest glint of her implants. Then she shifted, and a sliver of moonlight highlighted the curve of her armored chest. The soldier's pale eyes narrowed then. He snarled at her, "Mandalorian bitch! Don't mock me! Get out of there."

She sighed loudly, shaking her head as she stepped from behind the crate. She maneuvered carefully around the tangled supplies Jicoln had haphazardly strewn across the floor. A single bloody fingerprint on the crate identified who'd done the rampaging, anyway. And Jicoln was no pirate, either, she thought to herself. Not that she imagined the stupid soldier in front of her even cared enough to ask. And she certainly didn't volunteer the information, either. _Her_ hunt, _her_ business.

Jicoln was obviously running fast and hard, she thought to herself, as she stepped out of the shed into the early evening light. He'd barely managed to grab up some limited supplies, a few bandages and some small foodstuffs mostly. Given how recent the materials had been ransacked, she judged him to be mere hours from them at this point. This interruption was unnecessarily bothersome, when she only wanted to be moving again.

"Ah, and here I thought you were going to keep calling me a pirate. As insults go, it was at least new." Kastiel leaned her weight onto one slender hip, neatly thrusting her pelvis forward so her blaster was that much closer to her reach. She watched the other two soldiers step closer, then. Better professionals than the braying ass, she thought. Hey, they at least raised their rifles at her in warning!

Sergeant Braying Ass continued braying, though. Pity she had to listen to even more of his stupidity. "Oh, I'll treat you like a pirate, if that's what you want. Want to see what we do to a pirate bitch, instead?"

"Well, gee. It's not every day I get such a tempting offer. I really would have fun beating the ever living shit out of you for bothering me right now." Kastiel smoothed one slender finger across the implant under her eye. "You're wasting my time, anyway, when I've got more important things to do."

The sergeant laughed at her, leaning to the side so that he could see how her implants stretched up across her scarred face, back into the shells of her ears. "You're nothing but a defective mongrel! Which goes to show you how stupid Mandalorians really are, putting their damn cripples into armor. Deafer than a dog, aren't you?" He tsked at her, while the two goons following behind him only grinned and chuckled some more. Kastiel wondered absently if they even possessed the ability to speak, since all they seemed able to do was leer at like a pair of raw primates. Only possibly, she decided, just as she noted the twist of a shadow moving behind them. "Come along now," the sergeant barked. "Better if you don't give us a hard time. There's three of us to your one."

"But, Sergeant. One deaf Mandalorian cripple is all it takes to kick _your_ ass. Trust me on that." Kastiel's gloved hand shot out in a whipping arch to grab at the thick brown hair he took such pains each morning to comb into precise military neatness. He yelped when he felt her fingers digging into his scalp as she pulled his head down precisely and fast, until the front of his face was crushed against her armored knee. He felt the pain burst across his senses like an explosion, one that left him burning and bleeding there on the ground at her feet. He just knelt on all fours in front of her, spitting blood out through his shattered teeth and sniffling loudly.

It was quiet, except for his own wheezing. He dazedly wondered why the others hadn't responded, hadn't taken the Mando down when she took to grabbing at him. He knew she was still standing in front of him, could see the steely toes of her boots from the upper edges of his line of vision. But he only groaned out another pained insult, "You bitch." Then he heard a low, masculine growl of anger and intent.

"Can always prod him with a jolt, too."

He blinked tired tear-filled eyes straight ahead, even as he remained crouched in the dirt. There were _two_ sets of armored boots, there, in fact. And only one of them belonged to the bitch who'd kneed him in the face, he thought, bemused. He wasn't seeing double, he didn't think. Hell. Where'd the other one come from? He pushed his head back, trying to see them both. She was talking, so he tried to focus on the sound of her voice.

"Tempting. Was rather funny watching the other two pissing themselves. How much of a shock does that thing of yours provide?"

"Depends on the setting. Can pain them. Can kill them."

"No bounties for dead Imperials here on Taris. No matter how fucking stupid they are. Believe me, I checked."

"Too bad."

The sergeant gurgled slightly as he finally managed to raise himself up far enough to see her again. Her and the man who'd joined her, too. She was standing still with her arms crossed across her chest, there in front of his pained figure. Her man stood solid and firm, directly next to her. _Another Mandalorian_, he thought. A human, with raised scars etched deliberately into the skin of both his cheeks. Blonde, with a small slash of hair down his chin, kept trimmed into a precise shape. His armor was pale, ghostly in the late evening light, with brown and gold edging. He held an electrostaff loosely against his side, the ends still slightly flaring.

Kastiel glanced at Torian, frowning. "You find it?"

He nodded, although he didn't look away from the nearly weeping Imperial. The man's lower face was already swelling up. As he gasped a reedy breath, Torian was able to see the gap in his lower jaw where several teeth used to be. Blood ran down his chin thickly. He grunted softly, satisfied that the man was bleeding. "Moving fast. Found the trail. But need to go."

The sergeant realized they were looking for someone, hunting. Enough they weren't patient with anyone who got in their way, either. He glanced behind him at the twitching forms of the other soldiers. Each man was wet with the heavy stench of smoke and urine. Like they'd been put inside an oven and zapped with cooking heat, perhaps. Or prodded with a damn electrostaff. Every so often they loosed pained whimpers. He looked back up at the pair of Mandalorian hunters, "You're both crazed!"

Kastiel smirked down at him. "We didn't have time to play 'what we do to Mando bitches'. But it was fun playing 'what we do to Imperial idiots', huh?" He glared angrily at her when she turned to walk away, her hips swaying so that the two blasters tucked against her side glimmered in the low evening light. He wheezed through his broken jaw, "Fucking whore." That's when the other one – that yellow-haired bastard of a Mandalorian! – that's when he slammed a single hard-gloved fist across the swelling length of his chin, breaking whatever bone there hadn't yet been broken and sending him screaming into unconsciousness at last.

* * *

Kastiel watched as Torian unrolled the _haarshun bread_, until it lay flat and thin along his thigh. He smeared a length of mashed _fenti beans_ along the length of bread, before he tucked a handful of _goatgrass_ on top of the beans and rolled the bread back up. He handed the sandwich to Kas, gesturing silently that she eat it. He grunted when she settled herself next to him, sitting close enough that her hip brushed his own.

She watched the stars above their heads as they both ate, waiting for the sun to rise again. But he watched her. Mostly out of the corner of his eye. Not that she was unaware of his gaze, either. She finally turned to look back at him, smiling when he huffed a small laugh at her boldness. He reached out, then, slowly, hesitating. But Kastiel leaned closer, inviting his touch, and she closed her eyes, sighing when he ran his fingers along the side of her face, until he cupped her cheek softly.

"You're tired, Kas." He murmured quietly to her, watching as her eyes opened again to consider him. He looked very serious, his golden brown eyes liquid as he took in the dark circles under the glint of her implants. She shrugged, refusing to deny the fatigue beating at her. But sleep was never something she chased as readily as she did a target of one of her hunts.

"So are you, Torian."

"Slept more than you have." He reached his hand back against the side of her head, until his fingers touched so softly the implants in her ear. "Got a couple of hours yet before we move again. Sleep."

She grimaced, biting her lip as she looked away from him, feeling embarrassed at this ... weakness. But she unconsciously leaned into his touch, enjoying the way the tips of his fingers smoothed softly along the lobe of her ear. She glanced back when he murmured a sound, saw the serious expression in his eyes. He nodded when she scooted herself even closer and lay her forehead down against his shoulder. She sighed as he stretched his legs out in front of them and moved his weapon closer to his side.

She yawned, closed her eyes as she listened to Torian begin to hum softly. "What is that?"

"War chant. Called G_ra'tua Cuun. _Means 'Our Vengeance'. Sing it before a battle."

She closed her eyes, sliding against his side as his chest rumbled slightly through the slow rhythm of his words. It the sound of his voice, low and smooth, that finally soothed her into the darkness of sleep.

"_Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.  
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.  
Aruetyc runi'la solus cet o'r prudii an._"

"_Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.  
Our vengeance burns brighter still.  
Every last traitorous soul shall kneel in our shadow_."

* * *

Jicoln felt them coming, like the buzz of energy. He would've said it felt like a Jedi approaching, maybe – like that old magic working, reaching out to find him. Or maybe it was just the harsh intent of a good, solid Mandalorian hunt. He leaned his head back against the stone of the wall's edge he'd climbed hours earlier, remembering the days when a hunt was a thing of joy, of pleasure. When he'd still dreamed, when he'd known who and what he was, and been glad for it, still.

Now he was just … tired. The weariness ached through him, left his very bones fatigued. But they were close, both of them moving together. And he refused to give up, to give in. It wasn't in his nature to simply roll over and die. Even if a part of him would've been glad for it.

He grunted softly when he saw them pressing through the tall grass nearby the ruined wall where he'd perched himself. The man was moving better after breaking ribs that made him bleed inside than Jicoln himself was, actually. He frowned as he watched him, saw him bend to a knee to gauge the hard-packed soil at his feet. Damn. Artus' girl was even more of a prize than he'd imagined, he thought. Smart, determined and ambitious – all wrapped up in a sweetly curved package - and able to mend a man as well as she could break him, too, it seemed.

_Damn you, Artus_, he thought. Artus Lok didn't deserve such a child for his own. So when he saw her stepping up to stand just behind the young warrior, saw her resting her hand against his shoulder as she leaned over to consider what he'd found, Jicoln raged. All his anger, his bitter upset focused on the woman. He raised up his rifle to bitterly sight down the scope towards her shapely chest.

Suddenly the young warrior jerked his blonde head upright, his gaze shooting swiftly, intently towards Jicoln. For just a moment, Jicoln found himself staring into those eyes, so like his own, saw them flaring wildly with protective determination as he looked directly at him through that long sight. He gnashed his teeth, yanking on the trigger of his rifle in frustration. But the younger man was already moving, grabbing at the hunter's slender waist and pulling her hard so that she tumbled down onto the ground underneath the warrior.

Jicoln yelled out a snarled sound of frustration when his shot slammed uselessly into the ground, yelled, "Argh!" He jumped down from his perch, his rifle held up and ready as he strode towards them, watching as the man who'd ruined him crouched low over the woman, shielding her as he raised his electrostaff up determinedly. He only vaguely noticed there was something familiar about the man's stance. Who trained him, who taught him, he wondered in an angry aside. Damn _him,_ too. Jicoln almost spit at him, "Damn _all_ of you!" The woman bucked upwards suddenly, just enough that the warrior was forced to leap back out of her way, and she growled towards Jicoln.

Jicoln snapped his attention to her, angry he'd forgotten the real threat she posed. But he was too late. She made an angry sound as she activated her jetpack, flying at him in a burst of loud noise and smoke. She tucked her head down, using the force of her pack's momentum to drive her shoulder into Jicoln's chest with brutal power. He yelled out as the both of them tumbled backwards, with the young hunter, her jetpack firing hot, propelling them backwards until they both flew fast into a pool of standing water nearby. He sank like a stone, that damn woman still pressing against his armored chest. He yelled out wetly, hard enough the air he spent sent huge bubbles streaming upwards.

The depth of his rage and anger helped him forcefully push back against her, hard enough they both shot back to the surface of the shallow pool. Jicoln could hear the young warrior shouting at them as he raced towards the pool of water. But he ignored the man, rearing back to loom over the woman as he prepared to overwhelm her, bring her down for good. Damn it, he was bigger than she was, even! But she was already moving. She lifted her foot fast enough that droplets of water flew through the air, sending her boot flying into his stomach as hard as she could. He gasped, only barely holding back a pathetic moan of pain as the healing wound that laced his stomach tore open again, hard enough he felt blood pulsing once again over the bandages he'd just barely laid there. He rumbled out a low sound, "_Haar'chuk_," before stumbling out of the water.

He saw her following him, moving slow, methodical. That was bad enough. But then he saw a flash of blonde hair, heard a low humming battle cry, the sound bringing the sweetest memories for a brief moment. "Oya!" Jicoln bent low to avoid the swing of the warrior's staff. Then he reared up under the man, driving his shoulder into his stomach. He heard the huff of pain the warrior loosed, but it barely stopped him. Jicoln watched, almost bemused, as that damn electrostaff swung up and around yet again, a vicious twist of motion that ended with a cracking blow across the bridge of his nose. Jicoln felt his nose give under the force of it, felt the bone break with a loud snap, and he stumbled backwards, landing against the woman's hard shove as she pushed him away from her.

"My fight, Kas!" Jicoln glared towards the young man who made the claim, outraged he had to stand there as they argued over his corpse.

She glanced away from Jicoln, looking at the blonde warrior with narrowed eyes glittering with bitter anger. Jicoln started to step forward, intent on fighting her, taking her down at least. But her gaze shot back to him before he could make much motion and she raised a single fist to his face, prodded his broken nose solidly with one slender finger and listened to him lumber angrily at her, in pain. She snarled at him, "They called him _aru'tal_ because of you! To my face!" She actually stomped her foot, pointing at Jicoln as she growled meanly, "To my face, Torian! Because of him, because he left you there to face it alone! He failed you! And then he made you bleed!"

Torian felt the thrill of that, of her complete acceptance, her vivid and fervent protectiveness of him. That it was so total, so complete. The feeling was incredible, so keen it sent a pulse of blood thrilling through his veins, made his heart race, his groin tighten into readiness to have her, make her his own. But he had to finish it, all of it. He had to do it so that he was worthy of her, so that he was a man she deserved, could proudly call, "Mine," as he ached to call her. So he shook his head, "It's my fight, Kas. I have to finish this now. Don't take this from me."

Jicoln staggered back from the both of them, though. He felt blood trickling down over his upper lip, swiped it from his face dazedly. His stomach hurt, the wound there pulling, twisting with burning vividness, and he remembered with brilliant agony the way blood had framed Torian's teeth there on the _Spire_. "Torian …," he groaned out the name, stumbling down until he kneeled on one knee there in front of them. He watched them, watched his son. _His son_!

He skittered his gaze across his son's face - the shape of his cheeks, his temple, the way his chin tilted as he spoke, the blend of pale skin tanned slightly by the Taris sun. Aily was there, in the thick hair he kept trimmed, in the shape of his mouth, the solid stance in his shoulders, his chest all puffed out as he stared back at Jicoln with his head held up. He saw her strength, her determination, there in her son. But he was there, too. He could see it, see his own offering in the color and depth of his son's eyes, the way they narrowed thoughtfully, carefully sizing him up. He saw his own refusal to surrender, saw himself in his son's visage. Jicoln groaned as he looked at him.

Artus had lied. He'd stood there on that field, gazing out over the expanse at the warriors gathered there in front of him. He'd looked at Jicoln and sworn, told him what he'd do if Jicoln pressed ahead. "He turns the screw one last time, sends my son to kill me. Like he sent my wife," Jicoln mumbled.

Torian spit against the ground at his father's feet. "He sent no one! He left you here to rot! No. Aily came because there was no other way, nothing else to do but fight to regain our honor again. And I've come for the same. I'll have better, make better for myself. I _have_ to! _You_ did this, you did! You left us with no way out but through your death!" He scowled, stepping back into a ready battle stance as he glared towards Jicoln, fell into speaking Mando'a as he cursed at him. "Do you even know what that is anymore, what it means to be one of the _Mando'ad_? Do you know what it is to have to fight for that every single day of your life, for the respect of your own people? Or have you forgotten, have you given up that much?"

Jicoln dropped his head. Not in shame, because there was none. "I made a good fight, an honorable one! There's no reason for you to wear your name like a badge of shame." He glanced at Kastiel, saw her watching Torian carefully. Protectiveness was innate to the woman, he could tell. Hell, it was probably what drove her so hard to find him, here on Taris, he surmised. "Hunter, I would like a moment to speak to … to my son. There are things I must say to him first."

He watched her eyes flare, saw her fists clench. But she maintained control enough she didn't outright refuse him, either. A brief spurt of envy for Artus' having such a daughter – as intelligent as she was capable - once again rippled through him. But … it was hardly so intense, now. Not with his own son standing there in front of him. Still, Kastiel was adamant as she stepped closer to him, glaring, "I swear to you. Cadera or not, old man. If you do anything that hurts him again, I'll make sure you die so slow you'll beg me for it before it's done. Do you understand me?"

Jicoln breathed evenly, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her. She stood there looking like a fierce wildcat of some sort, her dark eyes snapping furiously at him. Torian shifted, pressing closer to her. Jicoln warmed as he watched their silent interaction, the way they defended each other, even if it was nothing more than a sharing, a brief feeling they passed one to the other. Rare, he thought – even among the _Mando'ad_. Two halves come together to make a whole. Strength like that … he sighed, "I'll not cause him harm, hunter."

She looked towards Torian, her chin tilting in that direction as she pointed. "I'll be right there."

Jicoln watched her walk away, standing at a distance enough she could no longer hear what they spoke. But not far enough she couldn't shoot him if need be. He smiled slightly, a smile that disappeared when Torian slid between Jicoln's line of sight, blocking the hunter from his gaze. Torian glared at him, his nostrils flaring, "You will not touch her!"

Jicoln felt the shame curl through him, then, remembering the look in his son's eyes when he'd threatened the woman. He looked away, hiding from the anger and protectiveness still implicit in Torian's entire demeanor. "Artus lied to me about you. He said he'd kill you, rip you from your mother's breast and destroy you. I know now that he hoped only to stop me from acting any further." He looked away, staring across the expanse. "Didn't work when I threatened your woman, either. More like me than you'd like to admit, maybe."

Torian pushed his shoulders back, leaning against one solid boot as he regarded Jicoln. "There are many people who've tried insisting I am just like you. Korwis argued I was more like Aily, though. Better that way, I think."

"Korwis?" Jicoln pressed his lips together, his mind spinning. He glanced down towards Torian's staff, the weapon held loosely against his side. Aily would've taught him the basics about the staff, enough his natural battle stance would be reminiscent of her. But of course there would've been someone else to strengthen that initial training. He was glad it was someone he'd respected. "He didn't give you his name?"

"Aily said no. Said I was supposed to show them Cadera honor, make it better. Can't do that if I'm adopted by Ordo."

"That's what she told me, too. No other way, she said." Jicoln looked seriously towards his son. "That's not changed, either. There's no other way. Even now."

Torian shook his head. "Honor demands you pay for turning aside from the Mandalore's rule. Bad enough you argued with him. But you lead men against him, too. That can't be forgotten. Nor forgiven. Mandalore's said you're _dar'manda_. He had to, or lose face among the clans. He demands honor, respects tradition. Too much to forsake it now." He glanced towards Kastiel, his eyes going warm. "My own children. They can't pay the price, not the way I did."

Jicoln looked at the woman, too. She was watching them, her eyes dark and sullen with worry. Her black hair was braided against the side of her face where scars were etched just under the grey implants that stretched up into her ears. "She's deaf, isn't she?"

Torian scowled at him defensively. "She fights just as hard without the implants. Saw it when your trap went off. It hurt her."

"I saw you both, there. She couldn't hear when she fought like that?" He gaped over at the hunter, utterly ignoring the frown she sent to him in reply. Strength like that, skill like that – the warriors she'd make! "How'd you find such a female?"

"Saw her when she was six. Fighting for her life. And she won, even if she says different. Korwis would've taken her, made her Ordo. But her blood father stole her away and hid her from the bastards seeking her." Torian looked over at her. "It was Mandalore who made her Lok, after she won the Great Hunt."

"So it'll be Artus Lok's daughter who marries my son."

Torian spoke firmly. "I'm Aily's son."

"And that would be better, too. Her last words were of you." Jicoln sighed, remembering his wife, how hard she fought. "I fought hard, to keep us from being servants of the Empire. Refused to be their puppets."

"We serve none. Not the Empire. But not the Republic, either. Mandalore encourages us to fight as we will, rather."

Jicoln shrugged. "Then perhaps my fight earned something worthwhile, made him think different. That's not what Artus wanted when he took that name for himself, anyway." He sighed long. "I fought a good fight, Torian. I'm not sorry for it, because it was the right thing to do. You never deserved to pay the price for my failure, though. _That_ is what I regret, that I failed."

"A few years ago I wouldn't have understood." Torian looked down and away from Jicoln, his eyes skating towards Kastiel nearby. In her, he saw everything he'd ever wanted, everything he was determined to seize and make his own. To lose that, to have it taken from him, or to have it ruined somehow – that would be devastating. "Today, I understand."

Jicoln nodded towards the woman his son claimed. In his heart, if not his bed. Yet. He eyed her carefully, the strength and character of her bearing as she walked towards them, took her place next to Torian. Her children would be his _bu'ade_, his grandchildren, could saw them burning in her, the promise of them like flames, forging ahead. He only wished he'd be there to see them.

"I'm ready now. I'm so damn tired." He looked at Torian, lifted his chin high. "_Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadass'la._"

Torian nodded as he stepped closer, accepted the blaster Kastiel handed to him, saw her looking at him solemnly. He knew she'd do it, if he wanted her to, saw the look in her eyes, the promise there. Not the first target she'd taken down, she'd said to him as they made their way towards this spot, this moment. But it was too important that he finish it, as Aily had promised the clans, promised Mandalore - promised that it would be a Cadera who finished it.

He looked at Jicoln. His father was proudly ready. Always ready. "I'll make our name something to be proud of again. I swear it." Jicoln just lifted his chin higher, compelling him. And the sound of the shot filled the air.

* * *

She watched the bright light of Taris' single moon, called "Rogue" by most people who knew the old stories, as it slid gently across the sky. Torian was still frozen, there, in front of her. She'd worked to cover Jicoln's body, carefully wrapping it in preparation for retrieval. Torian had helped her, smoothing the fabric over his father's face. But he'd been silent as he went about the effort. Then he'd taken up a still and thoughtful pose nearby a tall tree, and hadn't moved.

She stepped closer to him now, stayed quiet. But she was close enough he managed to reach around behind him and jerk her around and towards him. She gasped as she looked up into his face, watched as his eyes gleamed golden down at her. She could hear him breathing, felt the puffs of air smoothing against her face as he leaned in close.

"What're you doing, Torian?"

"Saying goodbye. Singing. You know the _aay'han_? There's a song to it. I sing it every night."

"Teach me."

He hummed slowly and the words slid against her. "_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum_." She sighed, so soft, and her gaze melted into his. "I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal."

She reached up, trailed her fingers across his jaw. His eyes burned, hard enough he blinked to keep from breaking apart. He sighed when she laid her mouth gently against his chin, tilted his head down to look at her. "_Gar mesh'la_, Kastiel."

"I'm not beautiful."

He grunted. "You are. You've always been. I'll show you."

"Really? When?"

"Every single day, every moment."

"My face …"

And that's when he finally grabbed at her lips with his, pressed his mouth against the corner of hers and ran his tongue in a silken line along the pouty length of her lower lip. She sighed and he swooped in, tangling his tongue against hers. He groaned into her mouth as her taste swirled through his senses, fired his blood. He nipped her lips, first the lower, then the soft, sensitive upper, felt her shivering against him. He nibbled a path from her lips down to her pert little chin, then along the line of her jaw, smoothed his tongue over the ridges of her scars, delighting when she sighed. He moaned again, breathing roughly, "Nope. I do believe your face is beautiful, too, Kas."

She dropped her head suddenly, pressing her cheek against the armor that covered his chest, and she stopped, panted harshly as she shifted against the burning in her belly and between her legs. "You confuse me."

She didn't see him smile as she held her head low. But she sensed his amusement, all the same. "I like knocking you off-balance, champion. It's rare to see it."

She playfully batted him against the shoulder, pushing herself away from him. But he grabbed at her hand, held her there as he looked at her seriously once again. "_Vor entye_. For today. I'm glad you were there."

Kastiel nodded. "Always." It was a promise. And he accepted it.

* * *

**_Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la - _a Mandalorian phrase meaning 'Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.'**

**_Vor entye_ - Thank you**

**I've pretty much written and rewritten this chapter a dozen times, feel like if I don't press save and upload at this point, I'll never get it done. But that's why it's taken me so long to get it finished for you guys. So sorry for the delay. And the length, too.**

**That last little bit, btw. This felt like the right point to give them a first kiss, somehow. A healing of sorts. Maybe a "moving on". I just felt there needed to be more than "I need to be alone" while he went off. That always felt weird to me, shrug. ****Hope it worked.**


	64. Chapter 63 -- Welcome to the Madness

"Jicoln Cadera is dead."

She watched him forming the words, testing the sound of them lilting. His tone was heavy, laden with gravity, seriousness. She thought, maybe, that he almost couldn't believe what he was saying. So he said it as much to convince himself it was true. But it also seemed like he was practicing the words. No. Like he'd practiced saying them over many years, whispered them to himself. A wish, maybe. At first. Later on, a hidden fear, deep inside.

Artus was hurting, though. Kastiel could tell that bothered him. He wanted to feel glad, pleased. And instead he was left grieving, like he'd lost something important that he'd convinced himself wasn't needed or wanted. The one he'd fought was gone, and he was really startled to remember the man had once been his friend. He was left to flounder, grieving, and angry for it.

So she watched him struggling, watched him lower his head, until his chin was tucked up against the edge of his chestplate. He closed his eyes, clenched them shut. And then he sighed, the sound heavy, solid. Kastiel only shook her head, thinking of that long-ago Admiral when he grieved for the daughter he'd condemned to death. "_Ah, Mandalore. You don't send death after an old friend without being sorry when it truly found him_," she thought sadly.

At least Jicoln died better than the little red-haired Sith girl did. He certainly didn't fall down to his knees over it, whining. Kastiel straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin as she addressed Artus there on the holo. "He died proud, Mandalore. Died with his head held up."

He smiled, grunted, "Can't imagine Jicoln dying any other way, though. He probably cursed at me at the end, too. That bastard never gave up, never would. Even when I hoped otherwise." He glanced away from the holo for a moment, then looked back. "You shot him?"

"No. I didn't." Kastiel crossed her arms over her chest. "Torian Cadera put the bolt in him. Said he had to be the one, because Aily promised it."

Artus leaned back on the heels of his boots, nodding firmly as he considered. "I was there when she did. She was a remarkable woman." He smiled towards Kastiel. "You remind me of her. Where's Jicoln's son now?"

"Torian's here. We brought the body back to this stinking Lake Garrison the Imperials insist on hanging around. I figure they're intent on keeping any living sane creatures from approaching, honestly. The rest of us just suffer along with them." She glanced over her shoulder at them, saw the two men through the open doorway that lead out from the small shelter where they'd left her to address Mandalore in some semblance of privacy. Fett was leaning his head down as he considered whatever Torian was saying to him. The two warriors looked … strong, capable and dangerous standing there together. Utterly Mandalorian.

"He'll ask to join you, Kastiel."

She looked back towards Mandalore, her eyebrows raised as she grinned. "Maybe I'll ask for him, rather."

Artus laughed, a loud rolling sound of amusement. "You would, too." He shook his head as he contemplated her. "He won't be the first, though. You're a leader of warriors, a real _alor'ad_. They'll beg for the chance to follow you."

Kastiel shrugged. "Not sure that's what I want, though."

"But this one? You want him?"

Kastiel looked up at Artus, her eyes darkening as her lips firmed into a smooth, determined line. "Mandalore, there were days, I can remember, where I didn't want him. Those were a long, long time ago. I think I was five."

Artus smiled. "When they ask, and they will, you'll tell them I'm glad he's joining you. It's time for the Cadera _aliit_ to be healed, strong again. He'll do right by them, and best if he does it alongside our champion." Kastiel shrugged. Her interest in Torian had little to do with the inner workings and politicking of the Mandalorian clans. But Artus snorted at her. "It's important to _him_. Remember that."

Kastiel stopped. She leaned her head to the side thoughtfully as she considered that, that what drove Torian may be something she wasn't able to do, to give him. Oh, she knew loyalty to family, to friends – she understood that. She'd fought endlessly, her entire life, to defend those she cared for. But she'd failed, over and over. Such terrible failures. Her mother. _Khyriel_.

His name slid through her mind, her worry for him beating at her. Old images of him, left broken, bleeding. Her little brother, drooping against the ground, his back and arms covered in bruises and welts so terrible that he lay there gasping, blood dripping out onto the marshy soil under the Dromund Kaas skies. She'd carried him, half dragged him really, miles back to the city, listening to the mumbled words he groaned against her neck, his confusion, "_Friend_ …?" Too late, was all she'd been able to think. She'd been too late and he'd bled all over her, all over the ground, in a long, long trail back to the doctors. So much blood that covered her, just as her mother's had.

She'd failed when she couldn't save the ones she loved. They were hurt. They bled. Their blood flowed over her, covered her. Her mother, whispering into her ear, the last natural sound she ever heard, that little whisper. "_Goodbye, sweet girl_." She'd failed them so badly, hadn't been able to stop their pain, their hurt, their wounds. She'd barely managed to keep Khyriel from dying, even. What could she possibly do for Torian, when she'd not been able to for anyone else?

But Kastiel huffed, finally. She tossed her shoulders back, looking back at Artus with her chin tilted up. She'd do whatever she could, give as much as she could, everything if need be. She would not give up, not when the fights were so precious important. "There's a lot about Mandoes I need to learn. He'll show me."

"There are few I'd trust as much to teach you what Mandalorian honor means, Kastiel. Torian Cadera is one of them." Artus crossed his large arms across his beefy chest, making the armor there glint even through the harsh light of the holoterminal. "Jicoln was my friend once. I remember hunting with him when I was very young, when everything was still new. Seems so far away now, that time. I'm _glad_ his son will fight with you now."

She nodded, understanding. Mandalore had just recognized Clan Cadera's honor, was showing it by giving Jicoln Cadera's son the honor of joining his own _ad_ in her battles. The message would ripple out to all the clans, that it was done, the dishonor set aside at last. Tradition's demand had been met, the price paid. Kastiel turned away from the holoterminal. Artus watched her as she walked away, her shoulders flung back.

It was like watching a beginning, not an ending.

* * *

"You finally claim your own honor. And now you run away?"

Torian sighed inwardly as he hefted the pack against his shoulder, staring back at Jogo where he'd stepped into his path. He shrugged lightly, "I'm walking actually." There were a few grunts and mumbles of amusement from the warriors who'd quickly gathered when they saw Jogo confronting him. Not that it helped soothe Jogo's temper, either. The expression he sent Torian was only darker, more tempestuous.

"You know what I mean." Jogo scowled at him, sneering. "You're still _aru'tal_ to me. Jicoln's dead body doesn't change you." Torian leaned against one solid hip, felt his electrostaff bumping the back of his thighs from where he'd locked it in place across his back.

"Doesn't change me anymore than his living body changed me, Jogo. It's my deeds that count, that make me. Not him. Never him." Torian glanced at the other warriors that gathered around them. He considered them, the looks on their faces. He'd discussed his decision to go, to follow Kastiel when he'd addressed Fett earlier, heard the _alor'ad_ give him respect for the decision. Fett hadn't even seemed surprised, only nodded as a tight little smile twisted his lips. "_She's a good one to go after, Torian. She's sharp, strong. Show her what it means to be Mando, make her strength our own_."

Any warrior would be grateful to join the Champion's crew, he thought, looking at Jogo confusedly. Then he realized the truth of it, shook his head as he regarded the raging Mandalorian. He'd managed to win something many warriors coveted, a spot in the fights made by the Mandalore's _ad_, in battles alongside the Champion. The blow to Jogo's pride was extraordinary. It beat at him, until he was bitter with it.

Kastiel hadn't made it easier for any of them, either. She'd been adamant after she spoke to Mandalore that Torian was welcome on her ship. Not a full troop of Mandalorians, not even another warrior. Just Torian. Fett had only nodded back at her. Torian imagined he was glad he didn't lose half his men to the young champion, actually. But the disappointment that swept through the Mandalorian encampment had been real enough, all the same. And now Torian watched Jogo's reddening face, calmly, with his head cocked to one side.

Jogo wanted to scream. He felt the resentment welling in the face of Torian's continued patience, his cool disregard. Jogo clenched his fists, even as bile rose in his throat, until he felt like he was choking on the bitterness inside of him. He lost control, snarled at Torian with his face twisted and angry. "You think to steal your place by planting yourself in the Champion's bed, huh? That's how you plan to win yourself honor, between her legs?"

Torian flushed, his eyes flaring brightly gold in the intensity of his anger. He lashed out a single fist, hitting Jogo solidly against the soft flesh of his mouth. He felt the give of Jogo's teeth, the spurt of blood against his knuckles. "Don't you dare, Jogo. You ever again speak of her like she's a piece of flesh to be bought and used, and I'll kill you." He watched coldly as Jogo leaned over to spit bloody goo onto the ground at Torian's feet. Jogo glared over at Torian, took a single step forward, raising his fists as he moved. But they all stopped when a cackling voice interrupted the impending fight.

"Heya, kid! Think you can stop playing with your little friends long enough to help me find the damn shuttle off this stinking world?"

The gathered Mandalorians turned nearly as a functioning machine, several helmeted heads and a few uncovered faces – all of them looking towards the red-skinned Devaronian who stood there in muck-ridden clothes, clutching his sniper rifle in the crook of his arms. Torian shrugged, "Told you I'm no kid."

"Yea, well. I never claimed to pay too much attention to what you have to say, either." Gault stepped closer, leaning over to take Torian's pack off his shoulder and drop it against the ground, effectively freeing him to grab at his staff if the confrontation went any further. "So what's this? All packed up? Great! Cause she hates being late leaving a world, I'll tell you. Hey! You fellows may want to help your little buddy wipe the blood off his chin. You know, carry him out of here or something." Gault tsked as he leaned closer to peer at Jogo's face, ignoring the spattering of chuckles from the other warriors. Jogo glared at him, but it was the man named Kurt who punched Jogo on the shoulder, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Leave off, Jogo. I'd be careful, here. Torian's bad enough. You hear the Champion threatened old Porol? Said she'd rip his tongue out if he said _aru'tal_ where she could hear. Seemed pretty serious about it."

Gault chuckled. "Oh, trust me, Jogo. Bet she's never introduced you to her fucking pet. Little beast still chases me around. I think she encourages it! And she claims to _like_ me! You got off lucky with that fat lip. Come on, Torian. Shuttle's this way, right?"

Torian stared quietly at Jogo for a moment longer, at the bruise forming against his lower lip. Then he nodded, satisfied, before looking towards Kurt. Then he turned, leaving them behind as he trotted after Gault. The Devaronian had grabbed Torian's pack and proceeded to drag it along the ground behind him, holding his rifle loosely against his shoulder. Torian huffed lightly as he grabbed the pack, slinging it back over his back as they made their way together towards the shuttle pad.

The Imperial standing guard against the ramp leading up into the shuttle raised his chin towards the still-milling group of Mandalorian warriors across from the landing pad as they approached, grunting, "Bad idea to pick a fight with Mandoes."

Gault laughed out loud. "Story of my life! Picked one fight – one fight! – and now I can't seem to get away from them, no matter how hard I try. Even scarred my ass, just to make sure I never forgot." The Devaronian clambered aboard the shuttle, still chuckling as he went. He settled himself onto one of the benches along the wall of the transport, ignored the raised eyebrows of the nearby Imperials by closing his eyes wearily. He loosed small murmurs of amusement intermittently, as the shuttle powered up and took off.

Torian settled next to the man. "Hunt went well?"

Gault grunted softly without ever opening his eyes. "Was spotted once or twice. Had to talk fast or he would've shot my other horn off. Gods! Wish I could've known the damn father who made those two. Can't imagine what his genes will do to any kids they end up having, mind you."

Torian stared at him. Gault opened one eye, blinking amusedly at the Mandalorian as he sat there considering it. Gault went back to laughing, then, reaching out one hand to slap hard against Torian's armored shoulder. "I'm just saying. If her kids are anything like her or her brother, you'll be one proud Mandalorian daddy someday. Those two? They just don't quit, they don't back down. Attitude like that's got to be in the blood."

Torian raised an eyebrow at him. "No guarantee I'll be _buir_ to her children."

"Oh, right … yea. Whatever." Gault leaned his head back against the wall of the shuttle, swaying gently as the transport moved towards the Imperial orbital station above Taris. "Have her tell you how we met, maybe. Then get back to me on the subject of her giving up on anything once she's made up her mind. Stubborn-assed woman!"

Torian watched him. "She shot you. Why?"

"She shot me in the ass, yes. To prove something."

"Which was?"

Gault looked at him, serious all of a sudden. "So I'd remember who died that day."

* * *

"So every time I turned around, there's this Mandalorian! She's like a mad little freak of a thing, complete with horns! Although she does have the nicest pair of titties I've ever seen …" Gaibriel's dark head bent sideways as he contemplated some Zabrak woman's breasts. Kastiel rolled her eyes over the simplicity of his attention span.

"Gaib. Seriously. Can you concentrate for ten seconds over something more important?"

"Kas, breasts are very, very important! There are men who will give up everything just for the chance to ogle a pretty set!"

"No shit. I bank on that quite often, believe me."

Kastiel almost laughed as Gaibriel's face turned a mottled shade of red, his nostrils flaring wildly. He almost barked at her as he leaned closer to his holo, "Men better not be ogling your breasts, damn it. I'll break them in half!" She couldn't help it, then. He watched, his lips pressed tightly together, as Kastiel bent over laughing.

"You're such a hypocrite, Gaib."

"You're my sister. I'm allowed."

"And does the Mandalorian woman who's tits you're ogling now … does she have a brother?"

Gaibriel sighed, his eyes turning murky with emotion. Kastiel pondered him quietly. He was so different than her other brother. Khyriel gleamed with dark intent, easily matching the most frightening shades the Empire. She knew he was a loyal Imperial, couldn't imagine him any other way. But Gaibriel? He was the light to Khyriel's dark, his spirit burning fiercely with an innate quality she'd seen only rarely over the years.

"No. She tells me she's the last of them. Something about an Imperial attack, says they were unjustly accused of betraying the Empire and were punished. Don't know how she put it … said her _aliit_ – think that's the word she used – that her _aliit_ was destroyed down to the last. Except for her."

"What's her clan name?"

"Spar. She's called Akaavi Spar." Gaibriel clucked his tongue as he considered. "I like her, Kas. She's pretty sad a lot of the time but she'd hate for me to say that. And don't think I'm feeling any better about someone looking at you like that, either."

"Hypocrite."

"Damn right I am."

Kastiel grinned at him. Then she settled back, tapping her fingers against the terminal as she leaned over to consider the messages she'd received during the hunt on Taris. "Don't worry, Gaib. I'll look into what's happened to Clan Spar, trust me. I'm more worried about you poking around in SIS business. But you have a better chance than me of finding out who's screwing Khyriel over."

Gaibriel fluttered his lips, making a loud, amusing noise. "I'm not worried. Not about the SIS, anyway. I've got pirates gunning for my ass, mind you."

Kastiel gaped at him. "Run that by me again."

Gaibriel held up both hands. "I swear, I was going to pay them back! I was on my way when I got sidetracked! It wasn't my fault!" She stared at him. He jabbed his finger against the holoterminal, so that she watched his image shaking back and forth in tandem. "I swear, damn it!"

She sighed.


	65. Chapter 64 -- Taking Care of Business

Mako bent over to peer into the gaping lid of the pot, listening to the plop-plop noise coming from the thickening liquid stewing over the heat source. She sighed heavily, tapping against the thick surface of the cooking pot with a slender stirring device. "I'm never going to get this right, damn it."

"What is it?"

Mako jumped when she heard the unfamiliar voice, spinning around with the stirring scoop held up like some dangerous weapon. Some of the softened _risha_ corn went flying off the utensil, landing against the nearby wall of the mess with a wet, squishing sound. Torian held up both his hands, biting his lip to keep from laughing at the sight of the small cyborg, her battle stance rigid, thrusting a spoon out at him threateningly.

Okay, a _large_ spoon.

"I swear. I will not ruin your meal. There's no need to beat me." Torian never even smiled. But his tone dripped amusement. Mako scowled as a blush spread across her cute face.

"I could beat you just because I want to, though, right?"

"You may certainly try. It would at least give me the chance to try out the sparring section down in the cargo hold."

Mako smiled, then. "Oh, hell, no. Kas got me to spar with her once. I'm so never fighting with a Mandalorian like that again if I can help it. She busted my nose when she tossed me over her shoulder! I'll stick to the navigation computers. Enough of a workout for me, thanks very much." She squeaked an alarmed sound then, spinning around to stir the pot's contents before the stuff really did burn. Torian stepped closer, looking at the brown contents with a critical expression. Mako muttered to him without looking up from her stirring, "I'm Mako, by the way."

"Torian."

"Yep, I know. Found some interesting vids of you." She smirked at him with a sideways glance, "Nothing too incriminating, trust me."

Torian frowned. "Vids?"

"Uh hmm." Mako nodded. "You should be careful on Dromund Kaas. Came across a bit of blackmail, involving a silly twit of a girl who didn't want her husband finding out it was a Mando she lost her virginity to before they were married. Some spoiled rich bitch recorded the two of you going at it."

Torian snarled a disgusted sound as he looked towards the front of the bay, towards the hallway he knew led to the bridge just past Kastiel's quarters. He hadn't even thought much of that night, or the woman – what was her name again? Leera, he thought – not much past the brief hours he'd given her. He could barely remember her, even. Just a flash of blue eyes and blonde hair in his memory. But he'd spit if Kastiel had seen such a recording …

"Don't worry." Mako smiled when he turned his head to look at her again. "I destroyed the file. Kas never saw it. Easy enough, anyway. Messaged the stupid woman, too. Who the hell lets someone like that Samara bitch set her up for a romantic interlude with a Mando without suspecting something like blackmail, huh? Hey, she was at least smart enough to doubt _me_ when I spoke to her, till I told her I wasn't protecting her little butt so much as yours. She seemed surprised a Mandalorian would be able to access a slicer's talents, actually."

Torian stared at the little female. She wondered what he was thinking behind that impassive expression on his face. She was bemused, suddenly, as she wondered what it was about this particular man Kastiel found so enticing. He was so different than every other male Kas cared about, all coolness and quiet. Mako tried imagining Torian sitting down with the outrageous smuggler of a brother Kastiel loved so much at one of the clubs on Nar Shaddaa and just snorted. "_I so have to be there for _that_ meeting_," she thought.

"You would've been checking on me even before I joined the crew. Why?" Torian's query dragged Mako's attention back to him. It also worked to expose his appeal, of course. Because he was just that quick at sizing up a potential threat and getting right down to the heart of it, no beating around the bush. At her core, Kastiel was a warrior, a fighter. She looked over a battlefield with dispassionate, calm eyes, sizing up her opponents, then bringing to the confrontation exactly that force which was necessary to win. Torian was a perfect foil for her, a dominating warrior on the field, someone strong enough to match her, meet her as an equal. Of course she'd want him.

"Because that's what I do, Torian. Oh, don't get me wrong. I can shoot a blaster pretty well. Kas made sure enough of that, not like Braden. He would've kept me hidden away behind a console, if he could've. He worried too much. Gods, I miss him. But I'm no fool. I'll never be as tough as Kas." Mako shrugged a slim shoulder, smiling. "Doesn't mean I'm not scary enough in my own way. I guard Kas' crew, her ship, her jobs – hell, her credits! – just as fiercely as anyone."

Torian watched her bend over the bubbling stuff in the pot, sniffing delicately and frowning. "But I wasn't any part of her crew."

She slanted him a sideways glance. "No, you weren't. Far more important, actually. Important like Khyriel's important. And Gaibriel. There are people she'd fight for, kill for. And then there's you and her brothers, her sisters. Those are the people she'd _die_ for, and not even be sorry for it, either."

Torian scowled. "Won't let her die for me."

"Which is precisely why _I_ like you. Enough to keep anyone from using a damn vid that would work to shame you. Not that your performance was anything to be embarrassed about, either." Mako hummed. Torian sighed, blushing brightly as he looked anywhere other than towards the tiny cyborg. Mako laughed as she watched him. Then she regarded the contents of the pot mournfully. "Don't think this stuff's worth eating, honestly. Was trying to make a creamed _rishi_ corn soup. But it's looking more and more like a shit pudding. And smells worse."

Torian grunted, amused all over again. "Not as good with cooking as you are slicing."

"Hey, if you can do better, have at it! I'd be glad to leave the cooking to someone else around here." Mako waved one small hand. "I need to make a holocall, anyway. Preferably before Gault starts singing in the refresher like a banshee and wakes Kas up from that form of unconsciousness she calls sleep."

Torian twitched, his gaze sliding back towards front of the ship again. She was all alone, he thought. He didn't like the thought of it, of her struggling alone for just a smidgeon of sleep. He wanted to march down there, find her, wipe the smudged look from under her eyes and hold her as she fell into a restful sleep against him. He closed his eyes, thinking of a star-studded sky, the shriek of a Rakghoul from nearby, and the soft, pleasing warmth of Kastiel's breath against the side of his neck. But he shook himself, watching as Mako padded over to the holoterminal set against a nearby wall.

He'd take care of his hunter, in every way eventually. For now, he bent himself to the task of creating a meal that would save them all from serious intestinal damage.

* * *

Kastiel jerked awake, nearly biting her lip as she came upright in the bed, shaking madly and sweating. She blinked blearily around her, letting the knowledge settle in, that she was in a safe place, that there were friends nearby. That her mother wasn't lying dead on top of her, her blood dripping down to smother her.

She sighed, dragging herself from the tangled covers across the bed to stumble into the refresher. She eyed the sonic shower wearily, still feeling the dragging need for sleep that wouldn't be realized without even more bad dreams. She shuddered at the thought of closing her eyes again, yanking her clothes off so that she could bathe the sweat off at least. Maybe eat something, she thought.

"Please don't let Mako be cooking anything," Kas muttered to herself, as the vibrations worked against her bare skin to remove the grime left behind by her uneasy sleep. She dressed quickly, ignoring the screeches coming from belowstairs, where Gault was battling yet again with Quinnie.

"Fiend! Get your fucking fingers out from there. No! Damn you, give that back! Mako! Come get this little bastard of a thing before I shoot its tail off! Argh!"

Kastiel grinned as she pulled her chestplate out from behind the bed, where she'd tossed the thing before tumbling unconscious onto the mattress earlier. She eyed the piece even as she opened the door, looking carefully for any dents or scratches. And then the smells hit her, sending her taste buds into tingling ecstasy.

She actually trotted towards the mess, emerging into the open bay just as Gault rushed up the stairwell, waving a white shirt striped with sparkling silver threads, the bottom lining flapping sorrowfully around a large rip in the seam. He began barking, "Look what it did to my shirt! My new one! Damn it!" Then he stopped, sniffing, "What is that?"

Kas smiled slowly, looking across the bay towards the mess. Mako was shoveling the food into her face, moving quickly, like she was afraid someone would eat it all before she got enough. Gault plopped himself into one of the chairs, actually sitting on that same white shirt as he grabbed at a plate. But Torian only watched Kas, who ambled towards the table still holding her chestplate. He raised his chin as she came closer, "Damage? To the plate?"

She looked down at the chestplate, shaking her head, "Not sure yet, actually. After I eat."

Mako grumbled around the food in her mouth, "Better eat now. It's good."

Torian pushed a chair out for her, watching her settle into the spot as she glanced across the table. There was nerf meat, ground up and shaped into a loaf. _Manta pears_ soaking in some kind of syrup. A large bowl of _mounder potato rice_, of course – a typical side dish for nerfloaf. All of it, and Kas' favorite beverage, too, blue milk from Tatooine. She sighed happily as she fell into the meal.

Mako leaned back first, utterly replete, as she rubbed her hands smoothly across her full stomach. "Gods, I am never cooking again. Sorry, Torian. You're stuck with the job. Forever …"

Kastiel glanced up at him, watched him spinning a fork through the mound of rice on his plate so that it adhered to the beef before he raised it up to his mouth. He caught her gaze, then, and shrugged as he chewed his food. "I like cooking," he admitted.

"Oh, it shows, trust me." Gault almost sang the words, his face nearly buried in his plate.

Kas shook her head as she returned her attention to her own meal. Mako was tapping on a datapd, scanning several messages there slowly. Every so often she grumbled something hard to hear, although Kastiel listened carefully. "Quesh? Sounds like a vegetable of some kind."

Mako chuckled. "No, it's a place. A Hutt planet, looks like."

"Definitely not green and leafy, then. Probably makes people sick. Like, don't-drink-the-water-cause-it-induces-interior-bl eeding sick."

Mako tapped against the datapad again. "You're still thinking of food, rather. Should have seconds, maybe. Looks like a job, is all."

Kastiel reached for the plate of beef, grabbed another slice of the meat, smiling when Torian grunted happily under his breath recognizing she liked it. "You know I don't trust Hutts, Mako. Fucking slugs always cause trouble."

"No, not the Hutts. It's a private corporation that wants us to meet them there, rather. Adascorp, out of Arkania, actually. They want you to help market their new line of adrenals."

Kastiel raised an eyebrow, "They want me to _what_?"

"Act as a spokesperson for their product." Mako pursed her lips, eyeing the message carefully. "The offer appears legitimate, Kas. And it's healthy. We're talking a large sum, here."

Gault chirped, sounding like a damn bird all of a sudden. Kastiel narrowed her eyes at him as she realized he'd gone a good half an hour without a single complaint. A record, for him. "Easy credits, Kas. The best kind!"

Torian snorted, "Not how I'd like to be remembered."

Gault elbowed the Mando. "Hush, you! Kas, just think … no rakghouls! No stuffy nobles! Hell, no Sand People!"

She shook her head. "Nope. Just Hutts. Lots of Hutts. The last time I tried working with a Hutt, he threw me into a pit with Akk dogs. For show, he said. You're fooling yourself if you think we can go to this Quesh and not have to deal with a bunch of the worms."

Mako clucked her tongue. "Take Torian with you. Even Hutts would hesitate to fuck over a Mandalorian _team_. One Mando, maybe. Two together can be deadly as shit." She tapped the table with a small fingertip. "But seriously, Kas. The sum promised just to attend the meeting is incredible."

Kastiel leaned back, her head cocked sideways as she thought. "Don't know, Mako. I don't even use adrenals. Never seen the need."

"So let them talk to you, eat their food and drink their expensive wine, then take their credits and bolt. No harm, right?" Mako held out the datapad for Kastiel to review, watching as the hunter skimmed through the wording with precise care, memorizing the proposal.

Kas murmured to herself. "Bloodworthy said the bounty for the hunt on Taris would be in our accounts by today."

"This morning, actually. He was right – that pot had grown substantially over the years. It's the largest prize we've collected. Until the next black list bounty, maybe." Mako was nearly trembling with giddiness there in her chair.

"Well, then. It seems we have some time to waste, and then we'll fatten our pockets. Torian? You mind going with me?" Kastiel glanced across the table at him, watching the way his eyes lit with amusement at the question. Of course he'd not turn down the chance to spend time with her. "I know you're not keen on the actual business, I mean. But Mako's right. No harm in taking their credits for the meeting. Don't plan on being any sort of spokesperson. Whatever the hell that's supposed to be."

"I'll watch your six." Torian shifted his gaze down over her frame as she leaned over the table, making the shirt she was wearing gape along the top edge to expose the slender curve of her neck and collarbone. He felt himself grow hungry again, although not for food. A sudden image of Kastiel standing naked in front of him, her hands crossed over her breasts as her shoulders curled forward against his gaze, flashed suddenly through his memory. He bit hard against his inner lip, hissed softly.

Gault yelled suddenly, startling all of them as he reached out to grab at Quinnie, who'd stealthily climbed onto the table to seize a thick handful of nerfloaf. The monkey-lizard shrieked when the Devaronian gripped its tail, grabbing at the platter of beef with its tiny hands. The food went flying as Gault pulled the creature back and then off the table, all of it falling onto the floor with a loud, terrible noise that sent Two into its own shrieking frenzy as it began calling out loudly, "I'm so sorry, Master! I'll clean the floor immediately!" The cacophony raged for several long moments, especially when Mako cheered the monkey-lizard on, insisting that it defend its prize.

"Kas! Call it off, damn it! The fucking beast just bit my ass!"

Kastiel burst out into gales of wild laughter as Gault whined loudly. "Serves you right, Gault. You should've let him have the leftovers, not dumped it all onto the floor."

"Thing shouldn't be on the table! Bad enough he invades my bunk, shreds my favorite clothes – how the hell does he know which ones are my favorite, anyway? – but my meals, too? Bah!" Gault actually stood up straight so he could stomp a foot angrily, trying to smash Quinnie's tail under his heal. Instead, he pinwheeled when his heel swiped across a piece of loaf crumbled against the floor. Even Torian guffawed as the Devaronian spun in place for several maddening moments, certain he'd tumble to the floor. Gault glared at them all once he regained his balance, "I really do hate you. All of you!"

They watched him march away determinedly, laughing when the beef stuck to the bottom of his boot squelched with each one of his steps. Torian chuckled as he waved towards the small monkey-lizard, then. The creatures, he knew, were fairly rare off their homeworld of Kowak. They tended to attach themselves to a single individual if they did leave that planet. He was hardly surprised that this one seemed to adore his own hunter.

"Hello, little beast." Torian held out a single piece of _manta_ pear, coaxing at the creature he knew was intelligent enough. "I'll make a deal with you. Stay off the table during mealtimes. And I'll ensure you get a plate of your own afterwards." Quinnie reached for the pear, but Torian held it up out of its reach. "Agreed?" The monkey-lizard huffed, before trilling an agreeable sound as it held out its hand. Kastiel laughed lightly.

"Careful, Torian. He's never liked any man before. Always torments them."

Torian regarded her with amusement. "He was only jealous. But he knows I've won that particular fight already. We'll get along."

Mako laughed as Kas gaped towards the monkey-lizard in amazement. It didn't escape her that Kastiel never disagreed with Torian's assertion he'd already won her affections, either.

* * *

**Manta Pears were a type of fruit, often made into a syrup.**

**Risha Corn was harvested on the planet of Rishi, in the Outer Rim. It was often used to make creamed soups.**

**Nerfloaf was basically a meatloaf made from nerf beef.**

**Mounder Potato Rice was a Corellian side dish, one that Han Solo didn't like.**

**As a sidenote, too, I've gotten a couple PM's about Torian's eye color as I describe it, here. So, yes, I do realize Torian's in-game character, now, typically has blue eyes. Unless you use a character customization option, of course. However, the first time I played the bounty hunter story, during the Beta, Torian's character shown as brown-eyed. I thought he looked even better with brown eyes, could never figure out why the developers changed that. Nor even if they did - maybe my personal game was bugged, who knows? But I've always thought of Torian as brown-eyed ever since.**


	66. Chapter 65 -- Tempting can be so serious

Moff Dracen slid his beady eyes in a long appraising look down the bounty hunter's armored form. He glared only briefly at her helmeted face, bitterly suspicious of anyone who's expressions he could not judge for himself. It was bad enough so many Sith loomed over him with their faces carefully hidden behind twisted bits of metal. To entrust the success of his command's endeavors to a mere mercenary was far more difficult.

Although he could hardly call her a mere mercenary, either. Dracen watched her companion step closer to her, looming there against her back until she was within careful reach of him. He might as well have announced he'd kill anyone who tried to threaten her, Dracen thought, amused. The man's helmet was painted with pale browns and golds, in two wide stripes that curved along the very top of the armor. The colors didn't exactly match the woman's darker green and brown paints. But they still looked, together, like a coordinated pair. They'd be tough to beat, he thought. And that was even before he took into account who she was.

They were calling her the Mandalore's daughter. Adopted, of course. But he'd seen that one fight. Artus Lok was a fierce and tenacious opponent to those he battled on the field. He couldn't imagine Lok would take a weak-willed or inept woman to call his daughter, though. No, this Mandalorian woman would prove a valuable and worthy asset. So he'd use her. Hard. To her fullest capacity, and right from the start, too.

"They told me you wanted a meeting, Moff. I have business of my own here on Quesh, so best if you let me know what it is you need and quick." Her voice was only slightly muffled by the helmet. But she sounded young. Brash, maybe. Definitely disrespectful of an Imperial Moff. Dracen's officers obviously thought so. Major Faradin was nearly trembling with agitation, so that he almost stabbed the air with a single pointed finger.

"We don't need any mercenary help. Your _kind_ isn't welcome here." Faradin sneered at the woman, almost leering as he leaned in to gesticulate towards her. She remained unflappable, though. She only shrugged lightly as she looked back at the threatening figure the Major tried to appear. Probably not so unusual for her to be derided, he assumed. Still, her cool demeanor was enough to impress Dracen even more. Her value was swiftly rising.

"Well, if you've got it all wrapped up and tidy, I can move right along." The woman turned as if to leave through the wide doors at the front of the conference area, utterly unconcerned. But the Moff snorted, "Faradin thinks to lure the Republic into compromising their position, sending out their best into more vulnerable circumstances. Mere theatrics, really." He frowned tiredly towards the major. "Brutality, carnage – that's how you break the Republic. They lack the will to sustain the fight through real devastation."

That, and it would soothe the sense of bitter insult that had sat in Dracen's stomach like a leaden stone since his mission had become hopelessly bogged down in the face of a Republic response none of their reports from Imperial Intelligence had anticipated. Why they were fighting so hard over such a waste of planet was bemusing. But it didn't change anything. General Korvan was hunkered down in a series of old barracks the Republic miners had used, making the place a real operational headquarters. From there, he sent out soldiers and fighters of his own to harry Imperial efforts. It was infuriating.

But the woman only shrugged again, unperturbed. Her man stayed quiet and calm, too. Dracen wondered if it were a common thing, for a Mandalorian to exceed so much control to his woman. Strange people, he thought. She talked, "Have to be clear what you want me to do, Moff. If the pay's good, I might even do it."

Faradin almost growled as his anger once again overruled his common sense, and he came very close to shouting at the female. Dracen considered slapping the man but refrained. "Like a leech, no less. It's bad enough we're here working with the Hutts. But now we'll have to deal with these filthy savages, too?"

The woman crossed her arms across her chest as she turned her head slightly to say something to the other Mandalorian. They jabbered back and forth in that strange guttural language the Mandalorians clung to so stubbornly, refusing even to share it with outsiders. But there was a hint of amusement behind the conversation, too.

She finally nodded at the man before turning back to face Dracen again. "I don't _like_ Hutts."

He scowled, surprised at her refusal. And it was a refusal. She was really going to walk away. Was she holding out for more credits, perhaps, he wondered. "Really? I was under the impression you'd worked closely with the Hutts. Nemro the Hutt makes mention of your name quite regularly."

"Oh, I bet he does. The fucking slug. Hell, he's half the reason I've made it a point to avoid working with them." She rolled her shoulders lazily. "They're a pain in the ass, Moff. Trust me."

"That is truly a shame to hear. Because my master, Graag the Hutt, is eager to solicit the aid of the Champion of the Great Hunt in this oh so worthy endeavor," the nasally voice of a Twi'lek interrupted the hunter's entreaties to depart. Moff Dracen was grateful for the disruption, if only to allow someone else the opportunity to beg the damn woman for her support.

"Great. A Hutt with a twi'lek slave. How original." The hunter drawled sarcastically. Faradin growled angrily once again, stepping forward as if to say something foolish again. But Moff Dracen waved a single hand, effectively silencing the man's temerity. He wasn't willing to antagonize the fool woman, not when she was already determined to go.

The yellow skin of the Twi'lek glimmered in the pale light of Dracen's conference room as he bowed low, carefully hiding his small smile from the gathering of dangerous characters arguing amongst themselves there in the room. "Indeed." He glanced up at the hunter, then, and gibbered at her in twi'leki. The Moff was startled. Not by the use of the language – easily picked up by their Imperial translators, of course – but more that the hunter apparently didn't _need_ a translation. Something this mere slave already seemed to know. "Not everyone is perfect enough to brag of long perfect headtails, of course."

The woman laughed out loud. "You're funny enough, at least. I'll even listen to your spiel."

The Twi'lek rose again, smiling tightly this time. He intoned very properly, "My master is pleased to offer a prize beyond compare to the Champion, if she agrees to assist in the absolute destruction of the Three Families here on Quesh. A minor character, one that the Champion has been hunting without success over many months, in fact. To be delivered, upon receipt of the heads of the Hutts called Broga, Jeelta and Portho."

The hunter sighed with overly dramatic flair. "There are precious few characters, especially minor ones, that I'm terribly interested in, enough to go hunting down your miscreant Hutts, Hutt slave."

"He's called Zee. A relatively unimportant slicer from Nar Shaddaa. Although we're well aware of his value to you, Champion. We imagine you'll provide him a fate as delicious as the one you provided his master."

She froze, looked for a moment like nothing as much as a Mandalorian statue. Her chin went low, then, as she became deadly intent. Dracen felt a quiver of excitement edge up along his spine, as the danger this woman posed suddenly became clear, distinct and utterly real. Hell, Faradin actually stepped backwards out of her way, as if trying to disappear from her notice. "The Bith," she muttered.

"He is. He approached the Cartel after you quite unfairly stole their prize, there. To hide from your hunt, I'm sure. It's proven beneficial to maintain control of him all this time. But now he's become valuable enough, a reward for your time and assistance. Yes?"

She was quiet for a time, leaning there on one curved hip as she regarded the slender Twi'lek man. Dracen watched as her companion stepped even closer to her, close enough their shoulders touched only briefly. Dracen heard the man grunt softly after she inclined her head towards him, mumble something in _mando'a_. Then she leaned forward, staring at the Twi'lek again. "Yes."

* * *

Kastiel's boot squelched in the muddy ground. She grimaced as she looked down towards her feet, eyeing the soil saturated with water she could tell was murky with some sort of … oily … _stuff_. She sniffed, determined to avoid getting the crap anywhere near her actual skin. She scratched against the bottom edge of her helmet, feeling her breath wash back against her face as she bent her head back to look up at the eddying swirls of dirty-looking clouds overhead.

Torian smiled, she could hear it in his voice as he leaned closer to talk to her. She'd insisted he speak only in _Mando'a_, so that she'd learn as quickly as possible. But he was still surprised how quickly she was picking up on the nuances of the language. "You'll be more comfortable once you grow accustomed to wearing it, Kas."

She grunted, "Still. I'm glad for our sparring matches wearing the things."

"I liked sparring with you, too." Torian looked away when she tossed him an startled glance, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Kastiel was amazed all over again to discern how much the more subtle body language and tones helped Mandalorians communicate even behind the dark face plates of their traditional helmets. The language was such a fluid thing, deeply rich, until it was beautiful.

Torian stopped suddenly and clicked his tongue, his head going up as he noted the smallest movements through the foliage up ahead. He hunkered down next to a rock outcropping with several sparse bushes jutting out. Kastiel leaned over his back, both of them sighting down towards the cave opening into the mine where Republic miners and their guards could be seen working. The flurry of information between their separate helmets, the digital arrays working fast to catalogue the number of adversaries below, flew wildly for several moments.

Torian grumbled, "More than we thought. The Republic's keeping their miners busy. And they've increased the number of guards watching over them."

"With someone like Mister Brutality-and-Carnage running the Imperial show here on Quesh, that's no real surprise."

"Succeed, though, and we make the Imperials happy enough."

"Don't care about the fucking Imperials." Kastiel frowned. "I'll just be happy to get that damn Bith's neck under my boot once and for all."

Torian leaned back, so that Kastiel's armored chestplate squared neatly against his shoulder blades. He subtly rubbed himself against her front, until she loosed a small sound, needy. She tried looking down at him, but the very front of her helmet bumped against the top of Torian's. He huffed an amused sound towards her, and Kas grinned at his playfulness. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

Kastiel smiled. "Of course." She leaned closer, close enough to ghost her fingers across the soft place under his arm up against the very top of his ribs. Where no armor protected him from the sensation. He almost bit his tongue to keep from groaning. "I always appreciate the games you play with me, Torian."

He glanced to the side, looking over his shoulder at her. Her heat signature smoothed across his viewplate, so that he marveled for a moment at the vibrant colors of her aura there behind him. He blinked, mumbled a verbal command to switch the vision mode of his visor so that he could see her normally again. She patted his shoulder, moving backwards and out of sight of the mine below. He skirted to follow her. They settled eventually against a nearby tree out of sight of the mine, with Kastiel only glancing at the dark stains of pollution against the tree's pale bark.

"This place is disgusting. Too bad the Hutts pay so well."

Torian breathed out, maneuvering carefully until he rested next to her, watching as some sort of lizard animal rooted through a dirty-looking pool of water nearby. He idly wondered what the thing was called. "Why the Bith, Kas?"

Kastiel was firm, angry. "Because he deserves it. Because he gave up to that damn bastard Eidolon someone who needed my help. Because that kid paid for that self-serving piece of shit's snitching with his life. Because I had to look at that boy, lying there, with half his face ripped off. That's why."

He breathed out slowly, eased one hand until it laid against her thigh and he could tap the armor there with a few gloved fingers. He listened as she sighed, remembering. "You blame yourself, though."

She hesitated. "I promised. Told him I'd take him from there. That he'd be better off."

"Not always able to stop them from dying." Torian heard the lizard thing snuffling through the watery plants, slurping noisily. "Korwis died in the arena on Geonosis. He was gored by a Reek. Thing stomped on him when he fell, too. He lived just long enough to tell me he always thought of himself as my father. I'd never felt as alone as I did right then."

Kastiel pressed Torian's hand flat against her thigh, held it there. "I looked for you."

He smiled behind his faceplate. "I know."

She bumped the side of his helmet with her own. "What happened to the Reek?"

"Killed it. Was my _verd'goten__,_ my blooding. Considered a warrior afterwards, went to fight with Clan Ordo, Corridan's troop. Worthy _alor'ad_, Corridan." He nudged her shoulder, pressed himself firmer against her side. "You remind me of him."

She grunted. "The Bith won't prove as much a challenge as your Reek, I bet."

"Not for you, no." Torian rolled back to his feet, holding out one hand to help pull her up to stand next to him. "But … you have to recognize your strength, your own ability. You're a warrior worth following, a leader. Even the best _alor'ad _lose people. You must not fear that kind of failure."

She tensed, hard, refused to look at him as she scanned the nearby terrain. "I've failed too many times already, Torian. Rather die than fail again."

And that's when Torian went rigid, suddenly angry. He reached out to grip her arm, pulled her close to him, shaking her slightly. She could almost feel him glaring at her from behind that dark faceplate. "Your fight is mine. So if you fail, I'll be right there."

She slowly slid her gaze across his helmeted face. "Didn't you just tell me sometimes you can't stop them from dying?"

"Exactly. So what would you do if I fell?"

"No." Her refusal was strong, adamant, welling up from that dark and terrible place inside of her that she couldn't truly put a name to. The place where she shoved all those things from her mind that she didn't like considering. Fears, rages. Terrible things she hid from except in her nightmares.

"Then don't speak to me about your dying, Kas. Not alone anymore. You remember that." She was trembling as he turned away, looking back in the direction of the mine. And she followed after him when he moved off.

* * *

"You're really starting to piss me off, Devaronian."

Gault grinned toothily at the pale-skinned Rattataki female. Cute little thing, all slender and firm but curved just right, too. He wondered what the tattoos etched into the slim features of her pretty face were supposed to represent. Clan? Affiliation? Gang? He considered asking her. Not a good idea just yet, he thought, looking into her dark eyes blazing back at him. "Heh. Must be lucky, hmm, that we keep bumping into each other like this."

The green-skinned dancer on the table in front of him gyrated slowly as Kaliyo stood there with her hands clenched on her hips. Gault glanced at the pretty Twi'lek to let her know he was still bopping along to her beat, as he pretended a lack of interest in the Rattataki's ramblings. He worked hard to keep whatever conversation they shared low and quiet. Best not to draw too much attention, he thought.

"Fuck you, you horned freak. I want to know why you're following us around." She deliberately looked quite deadly as she leaned forward, bending over to stare intently at him, her threat implicit. But Gault only grinned wider as he scooted his chair even closer to her, until their faces were mere inches apart. She blinked at him, caught off guard at his incredible lack of trepidation or concern.

"Have you considered I'm just that fascinated with your pretty little face?" Gault laughed when the Rattataki literally growled at him in frustration. "Seriously, you sweet little nugget. I'm working. Latest job brought me here to this shit-hole of a poisoned world. That's all."

"Really? What line of work you into?"

"Whatever pays the bills, actually."

She bounced backwards when Gault reached out to tickle his tongue against her chin. "Stop that!"

"Oh? You sure you don't want to see how far it reaches? I promise it's impressive. Even by Devaronian standards." He smirked at her as her eyes sparked with interest. Such a tantalizing creature, especially when he knew good and well she was dangerously lethal. A crazed anarchist, was what X called her.

He'd decided she was worth playing with, for the sheer challenge of seeing how much and how far he could take the game. He well knew she was aware of his interest in Kastiel's little brother, anyway. This little confrontation was designed, in fact, for her benefit, for her to determine what sort of threat to the agent Gault really posed. Whether she was a threat to him herself, though – well, that's what Gault wanted to know.

With a sordid bunch of SIS bastards already sticking their nasty fingers into Kastiel's familial situation, the last thing Gault wanted was for some Rattataki witch to twist the thing into an even uglier mess. Kas wanted him to keep an eye on the young agent. He intended to see it done.

Didn't mean he couldn't have some fun doing it, though. "_Around and around we go_," he thought, running the forked end of his tongue back and forth across his lips in a tantalizing invitation. Kaliyo watched it with an increasingly fascinated gaze, her curiosity heightening, sparking brightly. But she still shook her head. "Who sent you?"

"Sent me? Oh, my sweet dear. I'm here at this damn orbital station negotiating for a load of adrenals typically used by soldiers. To help stop bleeding, I'm told. It's all very scientific and far beyond my ability to understand. My boss is somewhat of a medical expert, though, and she insists the things are worth gold."

"You're smuggling adrenals?"

"Me? Smuggle adrenals? I'd never think to get past the keen eyes of the Imperial military with something they deem so valuable, oh no. Not me." He tsked, using his tongue to make dramatic smacking noises. Dramatic enough the red muscle actually quivered in his mouth. He almost laughed at the gleam in her eyes.

"You're lying."

"Am I? Well, I _am_ a decent enough liar. I'd be glad to lie to you some more, if you'd like. I do have a room nearby."

Kaliyo smiled dangerously as she leaned over to whisper into his ear, nipping at the lobe, there. She rubbed her round breasts back and forth against his muscled arm, "Your efforts at distracting me are such delicious things. I look forward to seeing if you can … keep it up."

Gault let his horned head fall back as he laughed loudly, drawing the attention of several of the Imperial soldiers gathered there in the tiny little cantina set into a corner of the orbital station. He slithered a smile towards Kaliyo again, "Let's test it out, hmmm?" Gault hummed as Kaliyo ran a slim hand down his front to crook a finger into the lining of his pants.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day, Devaronian."

* * *

**A Reek was a large bovine beast with huge horns and a scaly hide. It was normally a herbivore, used as a meat source. But when used to oppose gladitorial combatants in an arena on Geonisis, the animals were fed meat, turning their hides a dark red and making them much more aggressive.**

**You can see a Reek attacking Anakin Skywalker in Episode 2.**


	67. Chapter 66 -- Jedi Mistakes

The pictures didn't do her justice, he told her. He spoke politely, of course. Words that could've meant … well, anything, really. But Dahl truly was surprised as he regarded her, ran his eyes down her frame slowly, smoothly. She turned her dark head around to address her companion, so that the braid which ran down the side of her face fell forward against her scarred neck.

He frowned as he looked at the scars, trying to identify how they were made. A thick rope, perhaps. Looked like she'd been hanged. When she was still a child, of course, because the scars were years old. He pressed his lips together, feeling uncertain, off-balance. He'd felt that way from the start of this mission, from the very first report with her name splayed across the top. Pictures of her were scanty, vague. Details were even fewer.

He didn't like gaping holes in any report he was given. And this hunter's origins were murky, vague. Dahl wasn't certain where the blasted woman was even born, who her parents were, nothing. It was like she burst onto the scene from out of nowhere, just some strange creature that suddenly appeared from nothing. In Dahl's experience, such secrecy, such hidden nuances of any person was a deadly danger.

"**_Species_**_: human. __**Planet of origin**__: __unknown__. __**Family of origin**__: __unknown__. __**Family Name**__: Kastiel Blade of Clan Lok. (note: Blade determined to be alias, original family name __unknown__. Adopted by Mandalorian leader, Artus Lok.) __**Physical Description**__: brown eyes, black hair, pale skin. Indications of physical trauma, extreme facial and cranial injuries during youth. Deafness verified. Cybernetic implants allow for exceptional hearing, however_."

She could be the damned daughter of the Supreme Chancellor himself, for all they knew! Or the lost Queen of some distant world, maybe! Hey, stranger things had happened. Still. Wherever she was from, where she'd gone included a Republic cruiser destroyed and a Jedi master killed. Justice demanded she answer for the crimes she'd committed.

It didn't change in the least his fascination, he thought, watching as she turned back around to face him again. He was struck again by her sheer youth. Estimates gauged her age between twenty to maybe twenty-two years. He would've thought her complexion was so smooth because of the helmet she'd yanked from her head after entering the compound, except that every report he'd considered of her said she normally fought with her head bare and free.

She'd spoken in that weird Mandalorian language when she spoke to the young man behind her. Now, him? He was new to Dahl's consideration. He knew about the small cyborg woman, enough he'd been prodded several times over about "detaining her" if she'd accompanied the hunter here today. That Devaronian was something of a mystery, though. He had precious little information about anyone called Gault Rennow.

But now there was this man. He was blonde, as young as the hunter herself. But fit and lean, definitely an experienced fighter. He clutched an electrostaff close to his side and spoke to the hunter using a warm, familiar tone of voice. They were comfortable with each other, like long partners might be. And Dahl didn't even have a name to apply to the man! Perhaps there was some sort of strange custom of the Mando barbarians that had their women accompanied by a guard of some kind. Or was he a lover, perhaps? Dahl glanced quickly at the Mandalorian, noted he'd stepped closer to the hunter, saw him easing a critical look around the entranceway.

They moved together like a fluid instrument would, like two parts of a single machine. Dahl's stomach clenched all over again. Everything about this situation screamed at him he was in terrible danger. There were too many unknown variables, too much about this woman and her man that had been kept carefully obscure.

"Peyton Suole, huh?" Kastiel's eyes were rich deep pools as she considered him. She slanted a glance towards her companion. The man grunted in something of a response. She looked at Dahl again, considering his tensed shoulders under the stretch of his suit. He felt sweat pooling in the space between his shoulder blades, sliding down his spine under the rich fabric he was wearing. "You'll have to tell me what the hell a 'director of galactic relations' really does. Do you actually do something worthwhile with your time?"

He smiled with overt graciousness. "It can be quite enjoyable a position, of course. How else could I meet such fascinating people as you yourself? And your … friend, of course."

Kastiel grinned, shrugging lightly. "What you see, with me, is precisely what you get. I'm no poster child, by any stretch of the word. Which begs the question what the hell you're thinking asking for this damn meeting." Her man stepped up to stand next to her, until their shoulders nudged each other softly. She leaned almost unconsciously into him, until they seemed almost connected there in that brief space. It was intensely intimate, the gestures implicitly rich even if they lacked a single sound. _Lovers, indeed_, Dahl thought. "But let's get on with it. I have someone else I need to meet with before I leave Quesh."

"Oh? Is there another company interested in your story? Adascorp will provide you wealthy compensation for your time, I assure you." Dahl gestured towards the sparse office in the nearby room, where the holoterminal was already blinking for an incoming transmission. He mentally crossed his fingers the agents lurking in the next room over would not expose themselves before he got her into the office.

"Hardly. Your absurd gambit is unique enough to spark my interest, in fact. But that's all."

"I see. Well, then. You must be hunting a … well, what would you call someone you were hunting? An opponent?"

Kastiel smirked at his discomfiture. "Targets. I call them targets. I call myself a tool. One that my clients just point in the right direction."

He canted his head as he waved her into the office, following behind her and the man as they moved to stand in front of the desk. She was looking down at the datapads and terminal there when he moved around to stand facing her, behind the long surface of the desk. Dahl glanced at the man, saw him shifting his blonde head around to look at the room itself, judging it carefully. The warrior turned sharply to face him, then, and Dahl felt his breath catch as he considered the look in the man's pale brown eyes, the warning there. _They know_, he thought. They _both_ know, he realized suddenly, looking wary as the hunter shot him an amused glance.

"Should we skip the formalities, then?" Dahl tapped the button on the terminal, listening for the tread of boots rushing into the room. The man grunted one of those strange guttural Mandalorian words towards the hunter, who chuckled softly as she glanced over her shoulder at the three agents ringing the frame of a small green-skinned Jedi Knight there in the doorway behind her.

The holo image of the Jedi master Jun Seros took shape over the terminal. Dahl tried to feel stronger as he moved to stand alongside the agents. But his gut remained wound tight with anxiety. He made a mental note to translate the Mandalorian language into his translators the next time he took on any mission involving a hunter again. It didn't help him feel any better, anyway, when he noted the ease with which Kastiel turned to face them.

Jun Seros' voice was smooth, tranquil as he addressed the woman, though. It flowed like a calm pool over the room, even. Dahl actually did cross his fingers, then. "There is no reason for violence, here, hunter. Come with the agents of your own free will, answer for your crimes against justice."

Kastiel glanced at the holo, a bemused expression on her face. "Crimes? Explain, Jedi. And quickly. As I said to this so-called director fellow already, I have another meeting to get to. So I don't have a lot of time to waste with you people."

Dahl cleared his throat. "I'm actually Agent Dahl, of the Strategic Information Service, here to take you into custody for the murder of Jedi Master Kellian Jarro and the destruction of the Republic cruiser, _Aurora_."

The blonde Mandalorian leaned closer to the woman suddenly, asked, "Kellian Jarro? You took down the Mandalorian Killer?"

Kastiel shrugged. "He was the last target of the Great Hunt. Was tough. Tossed me across the damn room using those spiffy Jedi powers. But I still managed to take him."

"Good target."

Jun Seros frowned. "He was a noble Jedi. You had no right to harm him."

Kastiel tapped her fingertip against the handle of her blaster. "As I recall, he'd killed quite a number of Mandalorians long before I met him. Perhaps you should take it up with Clan Spar, why he ended up dead on the bridge of that cruiser."

"Enough!" Kastiel glanced down as a glittering blue length of lightsaber suddenly stretched up and against her neck. She heard the hissing call of her man, softly waved him back as she looked towards the slight figure of the Mirialan she'd last seen standing over the dead body of that aged Jedi. The small knight held the lightsaber there, glaring at the hunter across its length. "He was my master, and you killed him! You must answer for it! Please! You spared my life. Surely you realize the courts will take that into consideration when they decide your fate."

Kastiel shook her head. "Foolish. Should've taken the chance I gave you and made something of it. Not wasted yourself like this."

"Justice is no waste, hunter," Jun Seros intoned nearby. "Thendys, take the hunter's weapons. And be careful. They're a tricky bunch."

The Jedi knight withdrew her saber, stepping forward as if to comply with Seros' direction, nodding, "I know that only too well, master." But Kastiel shook her head again, reaching out to grasp the small Jedi's hand to yank her close. Thendys stumbled up against Kastiel, her head muffled against the hunter's armored belly. The agents hesitated, raising up their rifles and pistols as they pressed forward. But all of them feared striking Thendys if they fired. A fatal miscalculation. Kastiel shouted out towards her companion, something in Mandalorian again, and Dahl growled angrily.

It was already too late. The man was flying, a swift leap powered by the jetpack on his back, as he went over Kastiel's head to land firmly in front of Dahl himself. Dahl blinked at him, then moaned pitifully as the Mandalorian butted him forcefully in the gut with the blunt end of his electrostaff. He curled up against the blow, trying to drag breath into his aching diaphragm. He vaguely heard blaster shots firing, realized the hunter was battling nearby.

Then there was a click, as the Mandalorian pressed a button against the side of the staff. Dahl gasped, tried to fall backward. But he wasn't able to escape the sizzling stream of electricity arching through his body. He twitched, his teeth burned, his hair stood on bright, vivid end – just before everything disappeared into cold blackness.

* * *

Kastiel gripped the hair of the Jedi knight, lifted her face up to stare towards the holo. Jun Seros held his hands up, his fingers spread. He watched with real concern as the Mandalorian man left the fallen bodies of the Republic SIS agents to stand next to his hunter. Kastiel was glaring at Seros, "You did this. It was stupid!"

Master Seros was dogged, though. He lifted his chin up, "It was _right_."

Thendys didn't weep or beg. Kastiel gave the Jedi that much credit. She'd yet to meet one who whimpered as they died. But it didn't keep her from pressing the solid end of her blaster against the woman's temple. She whispered into her green ear, repeated, "Fool!" The woman's blood splattered against the side of the desk as she died, struck the holoterminal itself. Kastiel imagined the Jedi master could see droplets smearing against the image on his end, even. Poetic, she thought.

"How's that for your notion of fucking justice, Jedi?" Kas pointed a slender finger towards the body of the knight at her feet.

Jun Seros was angry. Kastiel could feel it, almost. Like a burning brand aching through the image in front of her. "You've made a mistake, bounty hunter."

She growled, bitterly enraged. "No. You did. You cost this woman her life, tossed her at me as if she was a worthy tool. But she wasn't ready! You wasted her life!" Kastiel leaned forward, almost looming into the image in front of Seros. "Don't make anymore mistakes like this again. You want something from me? Then face me your fucking self. Otherwise, back off."

She jabbed the holoterminal with a pointed finger, cursing. Torian muttered, "Teach them to mess with Mandoes."

"Here's hoping they take the lesson to heart." She glanced past him towards the agent, grunted. She stalked towards the man, motioned towards Torian. Together, they manhandled the man into one of the chairs there in front of the desk. She settled herself in front of him, tapped him slowly against the side of the head and listened to him groan as he slowly regained consciousness. He lifted his drool-stained face until he could see her, although she could tell he wasn't totally aware.

She smiled as he grimaced, taking in her face there in front of him. "Hello, SIS Agent Dahl. You have no idea how much I'd like to hear about the SIS. Who they are. Where I can find them. How many buddies they have inside Imperial Intelligence willing to give up Imperial agents to SIS controllers. And, gee. I've still got some time to burn before I hunt down one last slimy Hutt named Broga! Aren't you lucky?"


	68. Chapter 67 -- Wrapping Up Another Job

Kastiel was swiftly losing patience with the entire Jedi Order. Every last single Jedi she'd met seemed singularly intent on making her life difficult, anyway. If they weren't mindlessly droning at her about how damn precious peace and harmony was, they were swinging those fucking light sticks at her. Funny that they never seemed to really appreciate the irony, there.

"You're going to fight me over Broga, here? Really?" Kastiel sighed as she looked with wide eyes over the shoulder of the robed Jedi, towards the massive Hutt behind him. Jedi Master Berin Fraal. That's what Jeelta and Portho had called him as they argued with each other in front of the holo, right before she fried Jeelta into a puddle of Hutt goo and shot Portho right in his fat, bulbous Hutt head. He was typically Jedi, she decided, as she listened to him prattle at her.

"Broga's life is as precious as your own, young hunter. There is no justification for you to take it from him." The Jedi settled back on the heels of his feet, smoothly clasping his hands together in front of him in a relaxed posture.

Kastiel smirked at him, slanting a brief glance towards the Hutt lumbering in a quivering hulk of blubbery mass behind the Jedi Master. "You've obviously never been invited to partake in the hospitality of a Hutt's beast pit. Get back with me afterwards, maybe, about how precious their lives really are, Jedi."

Berin Fraal frowned at her, curious. "You fight for the Empire, then. Broga's life will help secure the Republic's hold on Quesh, after all."

Kastiel snorted, "I don't give a shit about the Empire on Quesh, or anywhere. I'm just being paid to take out _that_ Hutt. All you have to do is slide your fancy robed ass out of the way, and we'll call this entire meeting a huge success."

Broga belched out a panicked sound. "Don't let the bounty hunter hurt me, Jedi!"

"Peace, Broga. There is no need for alarm. I'll handle this." Master Fraal withdrew his lightsaber, activating it with that strange singing sound Kastiel was fast growing to despise. She sighed, palming her own dual blasters.

"Yea, Broga. This won't take long at all, don't worry." Kas smiled to herself as Torian's chuckle echoed from behind her. The Jedi frowned, shaking his head sadly as he sprang at her. Torian yelled a battle cry, loud and fierce, "Oya!" Kastiel leaned back, making room for Torian's swing, as his staff flew in a wild arching motion over her head to halt the downward momentum of the pale blue lightsaber swinging towards her head. She grunted slightly as she felt the press of Torian's shoulder against the center of her back, leaned back to give him a firmer center of gravity there against her.

Berin Fraal grimaced against the impact of his blade on the Mandalorian's staff. For only a moment, he looked squarely into the dark visor of the woman's faceplate, felt the pulse of her emotions as she grinned back at him. Satisfaction and pride, a heady sense of desire for the man behind her, possession even – like a bolt, the thought winged through his mind, almost like she'd said it aloud – "_He's mine_!" Fraal frowned, thinking how attuned to the Force she really was, like it nearly beat in her. If only she could touch it, use it, how incredible she'd be!

The danger was suddenly blatant, real. One Mandalorian was bad enough. But these two fought together in coordinated synchronization, like water flowing against water until it was one single fluid body. As a team, they were lethal.

He stepped back, looked towards the man, regarding him through the Force. Sensations flowed, angled sharply. The man was blunt, straightforward and unhidden. He regarded the woman protectively, like he himself was a shield, strong and determined to stand in front of her, always. He'd take the blows meant for her and then return them twofold, deadly. Because beating himself against the man meant she was in a better position to destroy him.

Torian snarled at him, bitter and mean, "_Jetii_ … break your _kad'au_ against _my_ _beskar'gam_. If you can."

Fraal recognized the taunt for what it was, a feigning motion designed to draw his attention from the real threat. He scowled dramatically, then, making his own feigning motion as he stepped forward as it to oppose the warrior. Torian shouted, though, unfooled. He watched, his throat tight, as the Jedi's robe spun in a whip of motion, the blue glare of the lightsaber flaring brightly as he flung it towards Kastiel.

Kas watched bemusedly as the saber winged at her through the damn air, controlled by the steady Force user behind it, flying like a bolt at her. Torian was shouting something, sounding angry and not a little bit scared, "_Nayc_!" Then it hit, stunningly hard – a desperate thud against her diaphragm, just under the swelling plates that covered her breasts. Kastiel grunted as the air wooshed out of her, coughed, trying to drag in a breath and failed. She leaned over, coughing madly as she looked for blood down the front of her torso, wondered crazily, "_He missed? Seriously?_" But the ache there in the upper part of her abdomen assured her the blow had been real and hard and terrible.

Kastiel glanced up with bleary eyes, hearing the maddened pings of metal against lightsaber. She watched her Mandalorian warrior bashing against the Jedi with wild, almost inarticulate battle cries, yelling mostly for the Jedi's death, watched the battle raging for several desperate moments as she worked to regain her shattered breathing. She coughed one more time, ignoring the pulling bruise on the soft part of her upper abdomen, crouching low onto one knee and raising up both of her blasters. Then she cried out, one loud cry towards Torian, "_Ke'hukaatir_!"

Fraal grunted when Torian dropped back, moving quickly out of the way. He tried to leap, to get out from the reach of the hunter's volley, the blaster fire that began sounding wildly in the closed-in space of the adrenal factory. But Kastiel had battled a Jedi once before, remained familiar with their tremendous mobility. She anticipated Fraal's motions, moving her blasters in an arc so fast that he almost leapt directly to the point of her aim, rather than escape its reach. Fraal yelped, only once, as the bolt struck him low, against his hip, sent him spinning until he fell into a vat of … Kastiel stumbled to her feet, moving over to look down into the swirling green mess in the tank below.

She shook her head tiredly. But Torian suddenly yanked her around to face him, his gaze roving down her frame rapidly. She patted his shoulder, remarked, "Just bruised. That shit hurt, damn it." Torian sighed, smiling slightly as he looked at her.

"Mandalore made that armor, you know. _Beskar'gam_. Can block the blow of a lightsaber if made and put together properly. Yours was." He wanted to yank her close, hold onto her. But she was already looking past him towards the increasingly agitated and squirming mass of Hutt. He grunted as he let her loose, watched her slide around him to approach Broga. Torian ignored the creature's wild cries, promises of riches galore. If only she'd let him live, he swore.

Torian glanced down into the vat of chemical crap where the Jedi had fallen. He smiled tightly, satisfied the man had failed to take her from him. And Kastiel's blasters blared a cacophony of song behind him.

* * *

"Tell me about the first man you killed."

"Killed a man in battle. One of several. Just crazed thugs, mercenaries on the move, who thought a small community transport was an easy enough target. Don't think they knew we were Mandoes when they boarded the ship. Their mistake."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. Newly blooded. I was traveling to join Corridan's troop."

"Were you sorry?"

"No. They would've done terrible things to the people on board. I fought to protect them. I do remember the look on the man's face. Surprised, mostly. He kept looking down at the blade I thrust into his chest, like he couldn't really understand what it was."

"My first … I was fifteen. He begged me. Tears and everything. I still made him bleed. Made sure it took a long time. Beat him with a thin, metal rod. Same one he used when he hurt my brother."

"Protecting your family."

"Tried. Wasn't fast enough, should've done it sooner. Before he hurt Khyriel. There was so much blood."

"He lived. Thanks to you."

"But he was hurt. Bad. I could only keep the bastard from hurting him _more_, is all."

"Worth it, then, that you destroyed the _demagolka_. Did good, Kas."

* * *

Torian watched Kastiel, as he stood there silently next to the small party of Imperial officers and guards. The soldiers shifted restlessly, some of them coughing behind the breathing masks covering their lower faces. They were obviously uncomfortable over the show Kastiel was making. All except for Moff Dracen. That one faced the direction Kastiel was marching with his back ramrod straight, his eyes gleaming darkly as he watched the hunter intently. Torian could discern the excitement, the thrilling pleasure the man was feeling. His lips twisted into a disgusted frown behind his faceplate, so that he resolutely ignored the Moff to watch his hunter, rather.

Kastiel's implants were turned off. Torian idly rubbed the handheld device she'd given him after shutting down her ability to hear. He hated it when she was vulnerable, still felt her deafness made for a vulnerability he was intent on guarding against. But the incredible trust she offered to him, in handing him such a control, managed to send a heady frisson of exhilaration through him, too. He stood there with his legs spread against the ache in his groin, in fact. Guarding her carefully, of course.

Looming large behind him, the Hutt called Graag was mumbling to his Twi'lek slave. Torian still wasn't sure what the slave was called, so they just called him "slave". Torian shook his head slightly as he listened to their Huttese ramblings.

"She's a remarkable little human. Are you certain we can't secure her support for the Cartel?"

"We barely managed to coerce her into supporting us, here, my lord."

"There must be something. Something we can use against her. Perhaps talk to Nem'ro. He sponsored her out of Nal'Hutta, after all. She owes us a debt."

Torian glanced behind him, glaring through his dark faceplate towards the Hutt and the tiny figure of the Twi'lek standing next to him. The slave actually winced as he noted Torian's attention, subtly inclining his head in Graag's direction. "My lord, the woman is a Mandalorian. She doesn't recognize any debts to the Cartel, and forcing the issue may bring the ire of the Clans down upon us."

Graag harrumphed angrily, slithering his large body in an agitated motion across the moist ground. "Mandalorians are overly independent creatures. Unfortunate. "

"Indeed, my lord. They do not realize the glory to be had in service to such a noble lord as you yourself."

Torian's sneer at the man's unctuous kowtowing remained hidden behind his visor as he turned back around to regard Kastiel once again. She was hampered by the struggling form of the thin Bith she dragged along in her wake. That one's pitiful cries warbled across the way towards him, as he begged for his life. Over and over again, in fact. Torian slanted his head to the side as he listened to Zee crying, heard him begging them for help since Kastiel was quite literally unable to hear anything. He kept shouting, "Help me! This makes no rational sense, there's no reason for it! Every variance indicates my survival is worth more than my death! I will … work for you, I swear!" Torian only rolled his shoulders, easily, patient as he ignored the man's plaintive wails.

The Bith had started begging as soon as he'd clapped eyes on Kastiel's armored form, and never mind that her face was still hidden behind her helmet. It didn't take a mathematical genius to know what was going on when he was yanked into that room. Not with the bounty hunter perched there so casually, waiting for him. She hadn't even said anything, in fact. She'd only marched solidly across the room to grab Zee at the nape of the neck, before he could scamper away, and proceeded to stalk from the building. The Imperials and the Hutt followed after her, curious and then morbidly fascinated. They only paused when she pressed Torian back, motioning that he stay, and now the lot of them watched her proceed forward.

"No! Stop! It was the only solution to the problem! I told you! The Eidolon would have killed me otherwise!" If Zee had been capable of tears, they would've been streaming down the taut skin of his cheeks, dripped over the ridges of flesh that neatly obscured the Bith equivalent of nostrils. As it was, Zee was twitching and scrambling against the hunter's hold on his shirt, so panicked that the mask over his mouth was nearly knocked loose from his face. But Zee managed at the last moment to smack it back into place.

Too bad, Torian thought. He'd probably have an easier death if he was able to choke on the poisonous air before Kastiel dragged him a good enough distance from the compound. He eyed the various soldiers who stood in small groups around the area, all of them watching the woman pulling and yanking that Bith across the way to a nearby open space, just under some of those strange-colored trees so common there on Quesh.

Torian grunted softly, remembering the sound of Kastiel's voice as she spoke of the boy's death on Nar Shaddaa. He leaned his weight onto one leg, considering. He knew this minor bit of work wouldn't soothe Kas' sense of failure where the boy was concerned. No, that was a dark, ugly sense of failure that ached in her, rather, something he sensed had been there a glaringly long time. It wasn't even that particular boy, either, he thought.

No. She'd lost everything at once, back there on Dromund Kaas that day. That explosion had ripped her life apart, left her broken and bleeding. Her family was gone, her parents dead. Even the Mandalorians who'd held her close and carried her from the scene were lost. There was nothing left but a young Imperial brother she could watch and guard only from a distance, and always under threat.

That was what Kastiel felt was her failure. That day, those moments when no matter how hard she fought, she still lost everything she cared about. This Bith had only prodded against a very real, very terrible wound of hers, one still raw and bleeding on her spirit. And he would pay the price for it today. Torian hurt for her, hated that he hadn't been there when she needed him, when she needed comforting, a healing, really. On Nar Shaddaa, too, he thought.

So Torian watched her, today, watched her slapping a make-believe bandage of sorts over that still-smarting sense of failure that continued to burn in her. He considered, carefully watched, promising he'd find some way to repair the damage, to fix it. He'd show her, somehow, how strong she really was, how capable. She was magnificent, if only she understood it.

Kastiel dropped Zee onto the ground at her feet, there under those trees. He yelped, the sound carrying sharply across the way to where they all stood. Then she yanked out a single device, just one - a round spherical-shaped thing that glittered almost iridescent green, even in the murky orange glow of the Quesh atmosphere. Murmurs came from the group around them, disbelieving sounds and cries, while a small, terrible smile pulled against Torian's lips. Of course his hunter knew the weaknesses of her opponents, used them accordingly. Used them well, too.

Zee held up his hands, said something to her. Crying some more, begging. Kastiel only shrugged as she depressed the button that activated the device. Torian spoke a single word into his helmet, effectively insulating his hearing against the impending blast. He could vaguely discern those around him, their hands flying up to cover their ears or whatever appendages they might use for hearing.

But he continued watching Kastiel, even as the sonic detonator activated. He saw her rocked back by the force of the blast, saw the ripples of the sound waves vibrating in the air around her. Kas shook her head, working to regain her equilibrium, unaware of the shouts and calls from the soldiers close enough to have heard the sonic explosion.

As for Zee …

Torian watched, uncaring, as the Bith's head exploded in a smooth and vivid burst of red, gooey wet color from the force of the sound waves reverberating against his brain.

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me? I checked and re-checked that transmission! There wasn't anything about the coding to indicate SIS was involved! How the fuck did they manage to get past all my safeguards?" Mako was nearly bouncing, she was so agitated. Kastiel plunked her helmet down on the table as she watched the small female pace back and forth in the brief, tiny quarters they'd been given after she'd finally finished up with Zee outside.

"May want to revise your security protocols, then. They had your algorithms. Here," Kastiel handed Mako the datapad she'd lifted from the surface of the desk where Dahl had finally lost consciousness from blood loss after recording the requisite data she'd insisted he provide. She was pleased at the brevity of information the SIS had on her, actually. But their interest in Mako was troubling. "Your sister or sisters – whatever – are becoming a problem."

"Dammit!" Mako began shaking, so much the tendrils of hair falling over her forehead quivered. Kastiel placed a hand against her shoulder.

"Calm down. Last thing I need is for you to lose it." She tapped the datapad with one slim finger. "I need you to go over this stuff. Catalogue it accordingly. Stupid fool had no idea where I was from, even. Certainly no clue my little brother is an agent loyal to the Empire. Hell, Mako. They knew more about you than they did me! Figure it out, okay?"

"On it." Mako hopped up onto the table next to the helmet Kastiel had placed there, while the bounty hunter went about yanking off her armor and clothes. She glanced at Kas carefully, grimacing as she regarded the large blue-black bruise against the center of her torso, along the ridged muscles of her diaphragm. "You got Zee, huh?"

Kastiel prowled towards the small refresher off to the side of their rooms. "Squished his head in, yea." She hummed as she took in the water-dispensing faucet over the yawning edge of bathtub set inside the room, eager to soak her aches and pains in some hot water. Mako listened to the splashing sounds coming from the refresher as she tapped against the new datapad, as well as several others, working fast, effectively turning her attention from the old memory of Anuli's shattered face.

Kastiel emerged naked from the refresher, loosely wrapped in a plain brown drying cloth. Standard military issue cloth, Mako noted in a sideways glance at the hunter. Certainly not the most comfortable bit of fabric. Looked scratchy, in fact. Which could be why Kastiel continued dripping wet as she hunkered down to clean and oil the pieces of her armor, pushing a damp cloth against the hard metal edges.

Mako leaned forward to look at the armor closer. "What's that green stuff, Kas? Looks slimy."

"It would be slimy, yea. Some sort of green mucous. The Hutt equivalent of blood, I think. But who knows, really. It smelled rancid, though, that I can attest to." Kastiel used a thin blade to scrape at some of the dried gunk in the cracks of her chestplate. That's why her dark head was bent over when the door to the room was suddenly opened wide to admit Major Faradin, his blocky face dark with a vivid scowl. He stopped fast, though, when he saw Kas sitting there, only barely wrapped, still, in that damn drying cloth that left her shoulders and thighs tantalizingly bare. Every angry word he was preparing to intone vanished from his consideration, until the only thing he could really appreciate was the skin of her thighs where she'd curled her legs up, holding her chestplate against her stomach as she worked over it.

_Her skin is like smooth milk_, he thought. Then he glanced up at her face, obvious to him for the first time since her helmet was still resting on top of the table in the center of the room. Kastiel was confused as she looked back at him, frowned as Mako harrumphed an angry sound and turned her head to regard the little cyborg. That's how Faradin noted the scars that stretched across her jaw and neck, just under a series of implants that adhered to both her ears. She was … horribly flawed. Imperfect. Broken. _No wonder the Mandalorians use her_, he thought snidely.

Mako snarled at him, "What the fuck. You make it a habit to just barge into a room without knocking? Asshole!"

Faradin scowled at the brief little creature. "This is an Imperial garrison. I don't need your permission to move around, here."

Mako jumped down from atop the table where she'd been sitting, poking the officer in the chest with one slender finger as she barked at him. "Well, when we're in this room, you'll respect the damn door. Or be sorry for it."

Faradin stiffened, standing straight and tall as he looked down at Mako, glaring. "Don't think to threaten me, you cretin."

Kastiel sighed loudly just then, looking up at the ceiling of the room as if pained. "Whatever ease I gained in that damn tub is being steadily whittled down to a nub by you two. Damn you, both. What the fuck do you want, major?"

He glared at the woman, ignoring the way his pants tightened across his groin as he heard the sound of her voice unhampered by that damn faceplate. "Moff Dracen wanted you to attend his evening meal, as a guest."

"Oh yea. That looks like it would be loads of fun. I'll pass, though. Tell him we're already scheduled for departure and have to be moving soon. Places to go, you know. Jobs to do."

Faradin almost stomped a single boot in vexation at the woman's obtuse refusal to respect the rank and privilege enjoyed by the Imperial military, that she'd toss such an honor back into their faces. It was almost like she didn't understand her place, as if she thought herself as good or better than an Imperial! The absolute temerity of her attitude was galling. "You slaughter for no good reason, for brief credits, rather than for the nobility of a cause. Nothing but a damn mercenary." He sneered at her, then. "A woman like you – all torn up and hard-used - would be far better off serving men where you belong. Even _I_ would give you work like that, on your back!"

Mako gasped, especially when she saw the stark look in Kastiel's eyes and knew suddenly, awfully, that this Imperial was hardly the first one who'd derided her so baldly. She was so mad she slapped at her belt, reaching for the small blaster she normally tucked there. But there was a low, virulently angry growl suddenly, one that shivered through the room, making everyone there turn towards the still-open door.

Kastiel's eyes, deep, rich pools that never failed to make him ache with want, stared back at Torian austerely. She looked like a doll sitting there, like some inanimate object that only vaguely recorded the happenings in the room. Droplets of water still dripped from her wet hair, beading against her pretty shoulders before disappearing under the edges of the cloth that covered her torso. She was only sitting there, unmoving, seemingly uncaring. Torian felt the heat of it rising, the pressing beat of his rage, and he stepped forward resolutely, ignoring the fool Imperial's admonished cry, "Don't you dare touch me!"

Gault helped, moved out from Torian's way. He even pressed against the edge of the door to keep it from flying closed and reached down to grab at the parcels containing the purchases they'd been gathering while Kas bathed, all so Torian would have a better opportunity to get into the room. The Mandalorian grunted towards him, which Gault assumed was Torian's raging equivalent right then of a "thank you". At least that's how he took it. Then he settled back, leaning his ass against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his lean chest, so he could watch as Torian proceeded to beat the ever-living crap out of the snotty son of a bitch who'd called _her_ a whore.

It was perhaps the best show of Gault's long life.

* * *

**Some translations firstly:**

**_Jetii -_ Jedi**

**_kad'au_ - lightsaber**

**_beskar'gam_ - armor, made of Mandalorian Iron**

**_Nayc_ - no**

**_Ke'hukaatir_ - Get Down!**

**_Demagolka _- someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, or a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche; a boogey-man.**

**On Bith:**

**Bith, as a species, had an incredibly intense sensitivity to the tonal frequencies of sound. They "saw" sounds the way most species saw colors. This made them exceptional musicians, so that you can see them over and over again in Star Wars lore, using musical instruments in countless cantina scenes. However, their sensitivity to sound waves made them particularly vulnerable to explosions produced by sonic detonators. While most species would be knocked insensible or unconcious using a sonic detonator, a Bith's head would literally implode from the force of the sound.**

**On Mandalorian armor:**

**Traditional Mandalorian armor was made using refined _beskar_, or Mandalorian iron. It was resistant to blows from blasters and blades, of course. But it could also provide reasonable protection from lightsaber strikes. The helmets that Mandalorians used with the armor also provided a certain array of technical read-outs, all of which would be tied in and uploaded to nearby ships or computers. These read-outs ran the gamut, including communication(s), heat signatures, infrared vision, etc. Various warriors could have their armor sets and helmets, even, provide protections from environmental extremes.**

**If you have questions on anything I include in my chapters, feel free to PM me, of course. And don't hesitate to offer up a review, too. Love hearing from you!**


	69. Chapter 68 -- Tip-Toe, Little Brother

"My officer became conscious only this afternoon, mind you. Forget for only a moment that's two full days of service he was unable to provide me. But there are also several scars across his face that will probably prove permanent." Moff Dracen's image on the holoterminal seemed staid, reserved. Kastiel realized there was an unwillingness to his stance, as if he was being held there in careful place. A man with a board up his butt, basically. The question was, how to discern the puppeteer.

"You mean he actually woke up? I'm impressed. Seriously. Didn't really think he was that tough." Kastiel purred with pretended admiration. From just behind her, Mako muffled a small laugh. Dracen breathed in slowly as he stood there, regarding them both balefully.

"The major comes from a well-standing family of some repute, however. They are pressing me for justice. The matter requires something of a response." Dracen locked his fingers together behind his back, rocking back onto his heels in a relaxed, diplomatic sort of posture. Kastiel almost snorted as she watched the wrangling that was so common to Imperial politics playing out in front of her.

"Justice is a worthy enough goal. Let them know my man busted three fingers in his right hand when he taught the values of justice to the major. If they press me, I'll transmit them a bill for those injuries and the materials used to knit him back into fighting shape."

Dracen only barely sighed as he looked at her standing there, her helmeted head canted to the side. He thanked the stars he couldn't actually discern the look on her face, certain that she was standing there smirking at him. He wondered at the nonsense he was forced to endure, when it was fighting, battle that should be occupying him, here. "I'm not certain they will agree with your estimation of the value inherent in the situation, however. Normally I wouldn't be bothered. But they're quick to claim a Sith Lord of some growing power as their cousin, too."

"A whole Sith Lord, hmm? Haven't pissed one of them off just yet. Unless you count that little one, back on Taris. She had a pirate in her service that I considered shooting." Kastiel clicked her tongue thoughtfully.

"I don't believe I saw a pirate in Lord Lusiel's service. She was accompanied by an Imperial officer, rather."

Kastiel lifted her chin, staring back at the Moff for a single silent moment as she thought fast, remembered the last time she'd seen her barely older sister. "That Imperial officer wouldn't be called Quinn, would he?"

"How did you know that?"

"Oh, good. Tell him I still have the monkey-lizard he paid me to remove from Balmorra. If he wants it returned, by all means, he can contact me directly. I'd be glad to assist."

"I see." Kastiel smiled broadly behind her faceplate as she watched the look of frustration on Dracen's face, knew that the last thing he felt was any sort of understanding. Except that she apparently knew the officer working close at hand with the same Sith Lord the pathetically stupid Major Faradin's family was trying to pull out like a damn trump card. Ah, politics. Such a tangled web, she thought. Although Kas still crossed mental fingers, that Lusiel wouldn't really become involved in anything with her name attached. One might hope, anyway. So she leaned forward, almost looming into the holoterminal.

"Was there anything else we needed to talk about, Moff?"

He blinked back at her, wondering what had just happened to the course of the conversation, how this mere mercenary had managed to so neatly evade any real repercussion for what had happened in his garrison. He almost applauded her for the feat. But, in the end, he only shook his head in bemused wonderment.

* * *

Lusiel sighed, reclining back against the headboard of the bed in her quarters as she watched Quinn neatly and carefully reorganizing the nearby closet so that his uniforms hung in neat, precise rows alongside her own Sith robes. He even color coordinated _her_ clothes, something that left her smiling wryly from her comfortable position on the bed. "Are you going to line them up so that the red-colored sleeves are all synchronized in a neat little row," she mockingly called over to him.

He shrugged, glancing back at her, "You won't be forced to dig through the closet looking for that one particular red-colored robe you were looking for, however."

Lusiel laughed, rolling over onto her back to blink happily up at the ceiling. She wondered when the last time was that she'd been so utterly content as she was during this moment, her mind flying rapidly through the events of the last months. "No, I don't imagine you'd let me dig through the closet looking for anything, Quinn." She watched him from the corner of her eye as he moved towards the desk set against the room's nearby wall, smiling slightly as she thought how distant the argument she'd had with him earlier seemed. He'd managed so well to get her past that upset – all he'd had to do was say, "Forever."

Quinn mumbled something under his breath as he regarded the messages sent to the ship during their brief foray on the planet of Quesh. Something about … monkey-lizards? She sat up, leaning against her elbows as she looked across the room to where he was sitting at the desk, his dark head bent over a thin datapad. "What is it, Quinn?"

"Do you have a family member by the name of Faradin?"

Lusiel sighed heavily. "Mere cousins. From my mother's family, no less. They enjoy needling me for support. As if I've forgotten what they called us just after my parents were killed."

He looked at her, one slanted eyebrow raised up. "What is it they called you?"

"A burden." She flopped back down onto her back again, determined to maintain her positive feelings about getting Quinn moved into her quarters rather than her mother's family. Oh, the look in his eyes when he asked her to marry him, hmmm. It was rare to see him so uncertain, so deliciously worried she wouldn't give him something he wanted. As if she didn't delight in giving him the most exquisite pleasures, mind you.

Lusiel twisted her head to look at Quinn again when she felt a burst of anger come from him, saw that he was frowning heavily down at the pad. He tossed the datapad down, almost uncaring of where it fell or how hard it hit the table's surface. Not a very familiar habit where he was concerned, either. "What is it they want from me, Quinn?" She felt warm in the heat of his angry regard, certain of the strength of his feelings for her right then. The sensation was so pleasant, in fact, that she didn't mention how unimportant such memories were, that she barely recalled the trepidation and anxiety she and Khyriel endured in those first days and weeks after they'd been taken to live with their aunt and her husband.

Although she didn't stay with them over long, either. She was sent to Korriban such a short time later. It was Khyriel who had to stay behind. She frowned, thinking of her brother's childhood there in that household. It mustn't have been simple or easy, not for Khy, with his normally easygoing banter. Still. Her brother remained such an enigma, too. She'd never known another soul so capable of enshrouding his real feelings and state of mind as her brother, so strongly willed that she herself had always had difficulty really knowing what he thought and felt. When she'd asked him, he'd only tossed her a sardonic grin, "_Perhaps you're not the only Sith who tries plumbing my depths and comes up short, Lou. Would certainly explain a lot_."

"It seems a bounty hunter beat one of your young cousins into a pulp. He was serving under Moff Dracen, on Quesh. The man was unconscious for two days, in fact. They've requested you seek out the hunter and, in their words, 'make her pay'." Quinn stated the information starkly.

Lusiel was suddenly curious. The women bounty hunters she'd seen over the years always seemed distant enough. Like creatures in an exotic universe. They were always tough opponents, too. She'd rarely met a woman wearing a mercenary's armor who ran from a confrontation. Had she ever? "I'm quite certain he earned every single blow, actually, if I recall some of my more distant relatives at all well."

"No doubt. I've encountered this particular hunter personally, anyway. She struck me as intelligent, sharp. Hardly the sort to be goaded into an unnecessary conflict." Quinn picked up the datapad again, scanning the message one more time.

"Encountered? When would you have encountered such a woman?"

"During those last days on Balmorra. It seems one of my soldiers had illegally acquired a Kowakian monkey-lizard. The little cretin managed to sabotage very much of my space before I captured it. I asked the hunter to remove it from every last one of my environs – the planet itself, basically." He smiled ruefully towards his Sith Lord. "It seems she's willing to return the thing to me now, if you choose to seek her out. A neat bit of cozening, there, mind you. I have little doubt the monstrous beast will be loosed on this ship if we do anything to bother the woman."

Lusiel was doubly curious now. "You liked her."

He nodded slowly. "It was a fascinating exchange." He raised the datapad, tapping against the front of the device. Lusiel watched him working for several moments, considering the various ways she might get him out of that damn uniform. She finally eased herself up, quietly moving to take off her own clothes. He frowned down at the datapad, considering, "Will you be making a formal reply to your cousins, then?"

That's when he finally glanced over towards her, and froze, watching as she idly twirled a slender finger against one pale, pink nipple as she crouched on both knees there on the plump surface of the bed, naked. He slowly swallowed as his brilliant blue eyes darkened in that utterly wonderful way Lusiel enjoyed so much. She smirked at him, "Tell them he's lucky he lived, rather."

Quinn groaned, "Later."

"Definitely later."

* * *

The Nikto was big-boned, like most of that race, with two large horns that jutted out from his forehead like spears. Mako couldn't help but stare at the horns with fascinated eyes, following the turn of the man's green, scaly face as he leaned down over her. His voice boomed out, loud enough for her to hear him over the riotous noise coming from inside the cantina, "We don't just let anyone at all in here. You're not on my list."

She looked around with wide eyes towards the line of well-dressed clients hoping for a chance to enter the establishment, all of them standing carefully in the midst of piles of trash and junk down there in the Red Light Sector. "Are you kidding me? You've got a list for this place?" She smirked at him as she poked a slender finger into his muscled chest, "There are only a few things you could be selling in there, surrounded by this much garbage, that's worth making a list over just to get through the doors."

He snorted, hard enough that some nasty green … stuff splattered from his nose down over his upper lip. Mako grumbled disgustedly over the display. But he was hissing at her, "Don't try threatening me, little girl. I'll pound you."

She crossed her slender arms across her chest, shrugging unconcernedly. "Try it. Dare you."

The Nikto raised himself up, until he towered over Mako, giving her the most ferocious glare he could make. Then he raised a big, meaty-looking fist as if to hit her. But he stopped, startled when the blunt end of an electrostaff prodded him in the shoulder. Mako smiled as she stepped aside, making room for Torian's armored form as he grunted a simple command towards the Nikto, "Don't."

The Nikto watched as Torian idly tapped the controls on the staff that activated the shock ends of the staff threateningly. He frowned towards Mako again, "You have a bodyguard? Damn it all. Who _are_ you?"

Mako's lips twisted into an amused expression as she dramatically wiped her fingernails against the leathers that covered her slender chest. "Wanna keep arguing with me? Or let me the fuck by? I've got some people I'm meeting in there."

"Who?"

She shook her head, pressing her lips close together as she stared back at him silently. He sighed, then snapped his head around as he noticed a group of Cathar fighters, obvious gang members, moving towards the cantina entranceway, all of them making a beeline for the armored Mandalorian standing next to Mako. "Just get inside, before those fucking cats decide to attack your damn guard. Last thing I need is the attention of whatever authorities decide to go poking their noses in after a real brawl breaks out down here."

Mako chuckled as she motioned towards Torian, who was already leaning towards the approaching Cathar. He grunted as he followed her through the doors, felt the pulse of music that beat through the space they moved through, while the brilliant splash of lights and colors swirled all around them. He breathed shallowly against the smells of the place, the wash of perfumes and lotions that covered so many of the bodies – human and otherwise – pressed there inside the cantina.

Mako waved high towards the back of the cantina, hopping up and down for one brief moment so that she could be better seen. Torian followed the direction of her gaze, felt his eyes widen as he saw the Wookiee for the first time. He moved slowly after Mako, who was now trotting through the place, intent on reaching Bowdarr. The Wookiee was leaning against the wall aside a door leading to one of the cantina's private rooms, growling every once in a while towards a slight Rodian, who's antennae were twitching in agitation as he confronted the hulking Wookiee.

"They've asked to see you fight, Bowdarr. Come on! It's good credits, more than you've ever seen before, I swear!"

"Of course. Because when I fought on Nar Shaddaa, before, I saw no credits at all, you little rat! I was a damn slave, a mere animal fighting for survival. You can't pay me enough to do that again. What I fight for, now, is greater than credits." Bowdarr warbled a greeting when Mako reached him, throwing herself into his outstretched arms. He held her up against his immense frame, until she nearly disappeared into his fur. The Rodian looked shocked as he watched their affectionate embrace, the two of them so dissimilar, the sight working like a strange sort of dissonance against his own experience.

"You are _Mando'ad_," spoke a voice from his side. Torian turned around to face the Zabrak woman who'd addressed him. She had a fit, well-muscled chest and curvy thighs, covered in mostly white traditional plates of Mandalorian iron. Her skin was red-brown, not overly crimson like some of the Zabraks he'd met through the years, with a series of horns running in a straight line down the center of her head. Her hair was a rich dark brown, falling in loose tendrils over the front of her face with gleaming red eyes that were surrounded by a slash of brown-black tattoos.

"So are you." Torian replied, clutching his electrostaff in loose, easy fingers as he considered her. She watched the roll of his fingers against the shaft of the weapon, rumbled a sound of approval.

"I'm called Akaavi Spar."

Torian bowed his chin into a gesture of greeting and respect. "Good clan. Fought with a Spar on Eriadu. He was a brave man." He glanced towards Mako, watched as she yanked hard against the thick fur hanging from Bowdarr's face, while he rumbled a laughing sound. "I'm Torian Cadera."

Akaavi frowned at him. "Jicoln Cadera fought against Mandalore."

Torian nodded. "_He_ did. _I_ do not."

"I understand. I seek to regain my clan's honor, too. The smuggler captain has promised me a place in the meantime. He's worth fighting alongside, for now."

"He would be. He's the Champion's own blood."

Akaavi blinked. She looked away, shaking her head. "He spoke truly, then. Of his sister." She shrugged when Torian shot her a confused glance. "It's hard to tell when he's speaking of truths or offering amusing tales. I thought it might be a human trait. But even for humans he seems … unique."

Torian smiled so lightly only the corners of his mouth curled up. "Perhaps you should only ask him, be direct."

She frowned, hard enough he could see the horn towards the front of her head easing forward. "Just … ask. You're right. I will ask him outright, see where I stand."

"Put me down, Bow! Come on, knock it off!" Torian turned to watch as Mako was quite literally carted through the nearby door, beating against the Wookiee's furry back. He followed them, heard the hiss of the door sliding closed behind Akaavi as she stepped inside the room after him. The sudden quiet, broken only by the continuing pulse of noise from outside and the low hum of voices from the other side of the room, was somewhat jarring. He looked around, carefully gauging the space for hidden threats.

He sighed lightly when his honeyed gaze found Kastiel. She was leaning over a table set against the wall on the far side of the room, her dark head bent so close against another dark-haired head they were just barely shy of butting their foreheads together. Gault was standing there next to the table, pointing down at the papers and maps strewn across the table the hunter and smuggler were considering. A woman stood behind them all, up against the wall itself, aloof and bitter as she watched them.

Torian examined the unfamiliar figure of Kastiel's brother. The man was lean, with a broad chest, his human frame covered in one of those jackets so common to Republic freighter captains, with buckles and clasps that wrapped around his torso over a blue fabric. His skin was smooth, pale like Kastiel's, with the barest hint of stubble along his strong-looking jaw. He'd turned to glance a the doorway as they came in, and Torian was able to see his eyes, a splash of the most brilliant blue framed by thick, inky black lashes and dark eyebrows. His black hair was cropped short in the back but hung shaggily over his forehead.

Gaibriel smiled when he saw them, calling across the way, "Bow! I've told you time and time again Mako's not a pet you can keep! Corso would mope for fucking days if you took his plaything away." Mako gasped, trying to pull away from Bowdarr so that she could smack Gaibriel. The captain laughed loudly, looking even more attractive as he leaned as far back from Mako's reach as he could, his hands held up in false surrender. "Truce, Mako! Sheesh. Didn't mean to get your panties all twisted up like that."

"Nerf shit, Gaib. You knew precisely what you were saying. Don't think I'm not on to you!" Mako shook a slender finger at the attractive ship's captain, who's blue eyes glittered like ocean-colored diamonds as he looked back at her. He stiffened angrily when the pretty woman standing against the wall sarcastically purred, "He'd be able to fool you, too, if he really tried, Mako darling."

Mako shrugged as Bowdarr gently settled her back on her feet in front of him, snuffling towards the woman warningly. "I've known Gaib long enough, Risha. I wouldn't go expecting different from him at this point, trust me."

Gaibriel slanted a warning glance at Risha. He'd grant her leeway up to a point, still smarting himself from the upset of their earlier conversation. But there were lines she was treading, here, and he was quick to remind her of them, too. He was actually grateful when Corso suddenly burst through the door, rushing into the room clutching a datapad of all things. Corso yelped loudly when Mako caught at him, "Hell, yea! Mako!" She yanked his braided head down, grabbing at his lips with her own.

Gaibriel called after them, "Hey, you! I know you have a room for that! If I can't play right across the length of the table, here, neither can you. So knock it off!"

Risha harrumphed. "The real question would be who you'd play with, wouldn't it, captain?"

Gaib turned, his face looking stormy, murky all of a sudden. But Kastiel sighed loudly, dramatically drawing out the sound as she looked towards the ceiling, "I can just see it now. We'd have us a Mandalorian beat-down on our hands. Would be my second one in as many days. I swear, Risha. If any one of my crew ends up with busted up knuckles again, I'm so blaming you."

Risha sniffed. The Wookiee shuffled closer to her, obviously trying to comfort the woman, standing close enough he looked like a big carpet pinned to the wall there. Like a hunt's trophy, maybe, Torian thought. He'd heard stories of Trandoshans who hunted Wookiees, but Mandalorians were more likely to consider the furred race of Wookiees as worthy opponents, to be respected, than any sort of prey. Risha leaned against Bowdarr now, in fact, ignoring Gaib's stony expression as she responded, "Well, it's not like we have to wonder about you playing around, Kas. Still not seeing anyone, hmm?"

Torian's gaze sharpened as Gaib started to stand up. But Kastiel butted her shoulder into his side, hard enough he grunted and glared over at her as he rubbed the spot, murmuring, "Ah, damn it, Kas! Don't do that, it hurts!" She only grinned back at him, before glancing towards Torian, her dark eyes looking like melted candy to him, "No, Risha. Not seeing anyone. Although I could be talked into it, by the right guy."

Gaibriel turned to look at Torian, narrowing his own eyes as he sliced his icy gaze up and down the Mandalorian's armored figure. "Well. Makes me wonder who Mr. Quiet, here, is seeing. Since everyone else is pretty obvious at this point. So what about it, Mando. You seeing anyone?"

Torian only shrugged, looking towards Kastiel like she was a piece of sweet he wanted to taste, to smooth his tongue against, to savor slowly. Kastiel felt the warm tingle of excitement edging along her spine, but Gaibriel frowned intently. "No. Thinking about it, though." Corso laughed loudly, throwing his head back so that his braids slapped against his shoulder blades.

"I like him, captain. Doesn't let you get the best of 'im." The Corso leaned over the table, dropping the datapad he'd been carrying on top of the papers and maps already there. He didn't let loose of Mako, though. Just pulled the cyborg closer to him, until she was nestled there, fitting against him like a warm blanket that he cherished. "Now, missus Kastiel. Maybe you can tell us why the SIS is suddenly intent on finding 'anyone who knows or possesses information pertaining to the Mandalore's champion' …"


	70. Chapter 69 -- Always

**Serious smexy times ahead, just warning. **

**Note: everything they say to each other is in _Mando'a_.**

* * *

Gaibriel had warned him against hurting Kastiel. Mako thought the gesture properly adorable and laughed with outrageous fervor, although Corso only shook his head as he pulled the little female from the place. But there was something in Gaib's eyes when he said it, something deeply intent, like a pressure held back only barely by the man's control.

That's when Torian remembered Gaibriel – remembered him suddenly, hard and terrible, like a flash of light that pulsed in the heat of an image being captured on holo. An image … a boy pressing himself against the wall of the spaceport, his face streaked with sweat and dirt, biting his lip every so often to keep from crying. His eyes were huge in his face, brightly blue and glaring in the shadows behind the crates where they all hunkered, hiding from the danger. He'd just huddled there, humming a comforting sound, his dark head bent over the tiny shape of a little girl, whispering to her over and over, "_Shhh, Cam. Won't let them get you, I promise_." And then the blast of sound that took it all away.

So it didn't matter how amusing Mako thought it. Torian understood, looking at Gaibriel there, that he was still that young boy striving to protect his sister from harm, driven to do whatever he could to shield her from whatever blast came along. It was a drive Torian respected, admired. So he'd nodded, solemnly as he looked back at the smuggler captain. He _liked_ Kastiel's brother.

Torian clucked his tongue towards Kas' monkey-lizard now, holding out a solid bit of meat, some sort of fowl that he'd found for purchase at a stall towards the back of the promenade's market, now covered in gravy and baked into a pie shell. The creature eyed the food suspiciously, only because Torian's cooking was often more spicy than the monkey-lizard was willing to tolerate. He generally waited until Mako wasn't looking, and snagged something from her plate, because Torian kept her meals dutifully bland as she preferred. But tonight Quinnie snatched at the meat dangling from Torian's fork, before skittering off towards some lonely section of the ship.

Torian watched him go, shaking his head and smiling. The quiet hum from the ship's idling generators provided a comforting backdrop to the late hour, although the tinkering motions of Two down belowstairs, as the droid went about its cleaning routines, broke the utter stillness, too. Torian yawned as he leaned his head back against the wall, his stomach full, replete and comfortable as he sat there in the dark shadows. He just watched the splash of colored light glittering across the ceiling for the mess deck, streaming from the open windows of the observer port on the bridge at the front of the ship, lighting up the dimness of the ship's interior with garish display. He closed his eyes, drifting, quiet.

He lifted his head when he heard a thumping sound, like something falling. He blinked as he looked towards the front of the ship, at the doorway leading to the small hallway stretching to the bridge. Kastiel was the only other person on board. He'd watched her stumble slightly as she went past through into the tiny door that lead to her quarters, reeling only slightly from the burning alcohol they'd consumed in the cantina. Gault had happily handed her off to him before he skipped off … somewhere. Probably making some back-room deals to bilk people from their winnings at the casino tables, if Torian had to guess.

But Torian was just as pleased to hold Kastiel closer to him than usual as they made their way back to the ship. So he hadn't complained when Gault meandered away through the throng of gyrating dancers and drunken cantina patrons. She'd murmured something snide about the "obviously horny devil", chuckling as she nuzzled her face into Torian's neck and humming happily when he shuddered lightly against her.

He'd only groaned as they went, pulling her close every so often. To keep her from drunkenly tumbling over the edge of the damn platforms, he insisted. She'd only laughed, leaning against him so that the mounds of her breasts pressed into his side. Armor or not, the gesture implied a willingness to be closer to him, and he'd hissed at the thrill of desire the invitation sent through him. Especially when he decided she wasn't really so intoxicated that she needed him to hold her, either. The twisted grin she tossed him, along with the clear twinkle in her dark eyes assured him of it. As it was, the game was enjoyable, better even than the most intense hunt, and they'd played together happily as they went along. Until he finally released her, watching as she went down towards the hallway towards her quarters.

He'd been glad when she quieted into sleep, if only because he knew she hadn't slept for several days. He didn't really count the brief catnaps he caught her taking on various transports. Not even the dozing she did in the bridge seat as Mako navigated the ship towards Nar Shaddaa. To him, brief snatches of rest didn't make but a dent in the exhaustion he sensed was aching in her. He hated it. So when she fell asleep, he'd been happy enough and went to make himself something to eat.

He scowled now, though, as he watched Kas burst out from the doorway into the open space of the dim mess deck. She was pale, her skin gleaming with sweat under the brief nightshirt and pants she was wearing, and her feet were bare against the hard metal floor, so that she actually padded across the mess towards the conservator. He clenched his jaw as she moved to gulp down some of the cold water stored in the machine, pulling his fingers into fists as he watched her. She leaned over the galley's counter after gulping the water down, flattening her palms against the surface as she breathed slowly, steadily working to calm herself. Torian shifted then, enough he knew that she'd hear him, and she did, spinning around to face him with a startled expression on her face.

He breathed out, heavily. Only the most incredible distress would've kept her from sensing his nearness for so long. He got to his feet and slowly stalked towards her. She watched him approach, gasping roughly, still. Then she sighed his name, a relieved sound that made him ache. Especially when he noticed her eyes growing darker, easing into an expression of incredible relief. Like she derived solace from his merest presence, gained comfort just from _seeing_ him. So he drew it in, that sense he was needed so badly, wanted so much. Soaked it in as he reached her, listening to the sound of his name on her lips, "Torian."

"I'm here." He reached out to cup her chin in the palm of his hand, rubbed his fingers against the scars along her jaw. She sighed, gulping against the tears that pressed against her eyes even though she refused to cry. She couldn't cry. She had to be stronger than that. But he only hushed her, leaning down to press his lips against her cheek. "You don't sleep, Kas."

She tilted her head, turning her chin to provide him better access. He grunted, running his lips and tongue in sweeping motions down across the scarred side of her face, until he finally reached her ear. He yanked the lobe, there, into his mouth, suckled against the soft flesh as she moaned softly. "It's dark in there. Quiet. Couldn't hear anything. I couldn't …" Kastiel blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on what he was doing rather than the memory of her dream.

He released the lobe of her ear, whispering to her. "What, Kas? Couldn't … what?"

She whimpered, laying her forehead down against his shoulder. She felt so weak, utterly drained, until she hung there, powerless. Like she hadn't slept in years, in forever maybe. Reaching out for him like a castaway desperate for water who sees a glittering oasis splayed in front of them. "I couldn't find you," she hiccupped.

Torian pressed his lips down onto the top of her head, buried his face in the tangles of her hair, squeezing his eyes shut as he held onto her. Then he reached down, grabbing her just under the globes of her ass to yank her up off her feet. She was forced to cling to him, her arms looped loosely around his neck, her thighs draped against his hips so that her feet dangled behind him. He carried her out of the mess, moving steadily towards her quarters. She was quiet as they went, just limp in his arms. But he still stopped before going inside, leaning over to blow a soft pulse of air against her ear. "Kas? Your quarters, Kas. Let me know. No more playing."

She lowered her legs from around him, until her bare feet were set onto the cold floor again. She looked up at him, then, and he felt the thrill of it all over again. The way her eyes slid against him, over him. She was aching, too, he could tell. He groaned low, almost a growl of sound. Of want. She pulled against the back of his neck, until his forehead lay against hers. And she demanded, "Always, Torian. Gods, always be with me. Promise. Swear it!"

He would've smiled at the command – because it _was_ a command, a vivid, utterly solid command, and no sputtering it, either - except he knew and understood the fear and desperation driving her to it. He sighed at the memory, of a girl trying so hard, fighting harder than he'd ever seen anyone fight, just to get out from the bloody dark after the sound was robbed from her, after her world was shattered. "I'm right here, Kas. I promise." And then he pushed her, following her into the room, only barely glancing around long enough to find the bed. So that he could pull her towards it, noting the tangle of covers streaming from the bed's surface towards the floor. "You fell out of bed, damn it." He grunted as he yanked her around in front of him, his gaze sweeping down her figure, looking for bruises.

But Kas was reaching for the buckles of his chestplate, pulling against them with shaking fingers. He smiled suddenly, reaching for her hands and pulling them up, kissed the soft flesh at the base of her palms, one and then the other, before draping her arms around his neck again. He shushed her when she started to say something, standing close as he quickly unfastened the pieces holding his armor in place, let them slide down to clatter against the floor. He murmured to her when she tried dropping her arms, "Leave them there. Don't let go of me."

He toed off his boots and then reached for the ties holding her shirt together. He pulled at the strings quickly, heard her making panting little whimpers that sent excitement edging along the length of his spine. He felt hot, like his skin was on fire, wanted nothing more than to rip what little cloth still covered her to get at her bare body, to toss her down against the cushions of the bed and lose himself inside of her, pump between her thighs until he was utterly finished, drained dry of want. He gasped, stopped moving suddenly to press his forehead against her temple. He was burning hard, afraid he'd hurt her in his frenzy. He breathed in her scent. She smelled sweet, like sugar and liquor, and hot, like the oils she used to care for her armor and weapons. She wiggled against him, moaning, pressed her thighs into him, with only the fabric of their pants separating them. He worried, "Are you scared?"

"No." Kastiel leaned her head far enough back to look up at him. She smiled, looking so damned feminine, so fucking pretty that his cock pulsed solidly against his thigh as he watched her. He groaned when she did let go of him, then. Because she slowly grabbed the ends of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders so that it slid down, skimming her back to land in a soft puddle on top of his armor. His eyes turned golden, flaring hot as he looked at her. Just looked. She eased her hands up along her sides, curling her fingers against her chest until she cupped her own breasts, watching as Torian's gaze focused there, heated. "No one's ever wanted me like you do, Torian. I _like_ that. You couldn't scare me."

He growled yet again, and she laughed softly at the number of hungry sounds he kept making. He yanked his own shirt over his head and flung it somewhere, didn't even glance to see where it went because his gaze was focused entirely on the soft motions of her fingers against her pert nipples. "You drive me mad," he said, pushing against his pants until they fell down onto the floor and he was naked facing her.

She looked, watched him the entire time. His body was strong and firm, with well-toned muscles that twisted and pulled as he moved. He showed her how hard and hot his skin was, too, pushing her hands back onto his shoulders as he reached for the fastenings of her own pants, pushed them down over her curved hips. She smiled, "I like that I make you crazy, too."

"Figured that out a long time ago." He thrilled when she was finally bared to him, everything there in front of him. He reached for her mouth, groaned against her lips just before thrusting his tongue between them. She clutched the back of his neck, ran her fingers through the short hair against his nape. Then he pressed closer, rubbed his chest against the soft pillows of her breasts. Up and then down again, until her nipples hardened even more, just perky nubs that stabbed against his chest as she grew even more excited.

She felt her knees starting to buckle, but he caught her, throwing his arm around her waist to hold her hard against him as his mouth continued drinking from hers, soaking up the moans spilling from her. She clutched at him, digging her nails into the skin of his neck, desperately trying to get him closer. He yanked her hips into the cradle of his own, rubbed himself against her cleft and groaned heatedly against her mouth at the power of the sensation. "Kas. So wet already."

"Want you. Wanted you for so long."

"You'll have me."

He picked her up again, moving quick to lay her down across the length of the bed, leaving her legs to hang over the side. He pushed himself between her thighs, using his own hips to spread her legs apart, until his groin was cushioned against the sweet, moist curves of her own. He bent down so that he could kiss her again. Then he pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, running his tongue down over her pouting chin to bury his mouth against the soft skin of her throat.

She began making more whining cries, appealing little sounds as she tried to entice him. He held her hips down as she tried twisting them against him, grunted a commanding sound that she stay still, keep from exciting him too much, too fast. He feared spilling against the sheets, felt the tingle in his scrotum that threatened he'd come too soon. He pressed himself hard against the side of the bed, held himself in place and froze there, breathing hard. She held her palms against his hard shoulders, nuzzled her nose against his temple, breathed into his ear, "Don't stop."

"Can't stop. That's the problem. Want you to like this." Torian leaned up, held his arms straight with his hands planted firmly on either side of her dark head. He looked down at her, and saw that she was watching him, her eyes like the darkest earth, like forever. Her hair spread out behind her, an unfettered fall of ebony across the sheets, and he thought madly she'd be looking to cut it soon. Then he looked down her front, to the pink tips of her breasts, and wondered how in the hell he'd manage to keep himself in check long enough. He groaned as he bent towards her breast, pulled the nipple into his mouth and sucked. Soft at first. Then hard, dragging pulls that pressed the flesh against his warm tongue and left her writhing on top of the bed, clutching at the sheets with clawing fingers as she whined and mewled.

"Torian! Feels good!" She bucked her hips, pressing her warm center up against his belly. And Torian groaned, hard, rolled his abdomen along her, gathering the moisture there against him. He felt his control slipping, his body starting to shake with the strength he was using to hold himself back. But he'd never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted to be inside her right then, felt like he'd die if he didn't do it. He swept his hand down, sliding it along her shoulder, then down over her stomach. He moved his fingers into and through the moist folds of her sex, testing her for readiness, determined, at least, not to hurt her.

He growled low again, a brief rumble of sound against the soft flesh under her breast where he was licking and nibbling, "Next time ... better. I promise." She was confused - better than what, when it was already so damn good - watched dazedly as he reared up, standing there next to the bed as he grasped her slender waist and yanked her towards him. She gasped when her thighs flew even more wide apart, as he pulled her sex into him. He looked down at her, and she watched as beads of sweat ran down from his forehead along the side of his face, marveled at him as she saw him coming undone.

He kept her waist clasped in his hands, dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass, and canted his hips just slightly enough that the head of his cock slipped and slid against the wet moisture surrounding her opening. She whimpered and her hands flew up to catch his forearms, held onto him as he pushed into her. He moved his hips back and forth so that he was able to get inside. He pushed harder, and he dropped his head to watch himself disappear into her, groaned loudly, "Tight. So tight. You feel so good, Kas." Then he reached that brief, thin barrier deep inside her, and he stopped. He looked back up, into her eyes, and she almost started crying when she saw the look in his golden eyes. He looked at her like she was giving him ... everything. Like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever known, ever held.

He knew it shouldn't matter, that if she had taken someone else before, it wouldn't have offended him, or even bothered him. It certainly wouldn't have changed his mind, his heart. But looking down at her, knowing no one else had ever touched _her_ so intimately, held _her_, sunk inside of _her_ - it shouldn't make him feel so utterly and primitively possessive. It shouldn't but it did. So he told her, growling down at her, "Mine," and it was a promise. One she grabbed and held onto. And that's when he thrust fast into her, breaking past that membrane to sink all the way inside.

Kastiel hissed in burning pain, bit her lip. Her hands clutched at his forearms, her nails digging deep into the skin there, hard enough she left bloody furrows into his arms. She looked up at him, saw that he'd thrown his head back to breathe deep, huge gasps as he held himself still against her. She whispered, "I hurt you." He snorted as he raised his head back up to look down at his arms, "Love it. Good marks. Yours, on me." He held her hips up, raising her higher against him, and he slowly rolled himself back and forth in her. She gasped, looking down to watch him moving, and pressed herself into his motion.

"Wrap your legs around me, Kas. Like that, yea. Now," he gripped her waist firmly, felt her thighs squeezing against his hips, "Hold onto me, _Cyare_." Torian began thrusting into her, churning his hips. He ran himself through the warm channel, felt her sweetly soft muscles clenching against him, trying to hold onto him. The sensation was incredible, so damn incredible he began interspersing each beat of his groin into her with more growling sounds. She responded with her own moans, running her hands up until she held onto his shoulders, held onto him like he'd demanded, hard, almost frantic as she pulled him down against her.

He leaned over her, until his elbows were pressed into the bed. He wrapped his hands over the top of her shoulders tightly, bracing her against him as he began thrusting even harder, so that he didn't push her straight up and across the entire bed. She buried her face against his throat, felt the moistness of his skin, there, the sweat pooling and running down between their bodies until they were wetly rubbing against each other. She was whining agitatedly against him, almost crying as she twisted, trying to get closer, trying to move away. He sensed her becoming nearly scared at the growing tension, grunted, "Let it happen ... It's all right, Kas. It's perfect. Just feel. Yes!" Kastiel felt herself coming apart, exploding. She shook and trembled, as waves of intense pleasure washed against her, so intense that she actually shouted out loud.

He held her throughout her orgasm, comforted her, murmured soft sounds. And utterly enjoyed the sensation - the way she tightened and squeezed his cock with those perfect little muscles inside of her, the way she bit and scratched against his collarbone and shoulders, the way she shook so hard her heels bounced against the backs of his thighs. He leaned his head down, laid his mouth against the shell of her ear, ran his tongue in a gliding motion along the curved edge, and whispered, "Kas ... so beautiful." Then he moved again, hard, pounding against her firm, slender body with forceful motions. Until everything came together, the sensation blooming. And he came, spilling himself inside of her as he flung his head back, moaning her name, claiming her with every jerk of his hips.

She caught him when he collapsed down onto her, his head buried in the cushion of the bed just above her shoulder. She smiled, even as her legs continued trembling wrapped around him still. Her hands drifted down across his sweaty back as he panted roughly. He mumbled, "You ... okay?" She only hummed something agreeable. She frowned as he hefted himself back up, slowly swung his hips side to side, testing. She winced, watched as he nodded before pulling himself away from her. She leaned up onto her elbows, frowning as he went into the refresher and emerged holding a wet cloth.

"I can do that," she murmured, her cheeks feeling hot. But he shook his blonde head.

"Let me take care of you, Kas. Stop it," he gently patted her hands out of the way as he went about cleaning her. He grunted as he washed the small bit of blood from between her thighs with slow, gentle swipes. Then he dropped the towel, and grasped the covers still lying in a heap on the floor so he could toss them over her. She moved around under the covers, trying to find the head of the bed. She laughed when he leaped under to help her, playfully yanking and pulling her, tickling her softly, until they were both laying back against the pillows. He pulled her against him, so that her back pressed up against his chest in a delicious spoon-position and she sighed drowsily. He nuzzled against the back of her ear, "Sleep now."

They lay there quietly, listening to the hum of the ship around them. She drifted, nearly asleep, more comfortable than she could ever remember being. Even as she felt a soft burning twinge between her legs, too. Just that everything felt so _right_, so safe. She was so damn happy. She whispered quietly, "How do you say the words?"

He understood. "_Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"I do, too."

He held her tighter against him, felt her body going slack as she finally fell asleep. He smiled, answered her even though she was lax, quiet at last. "I know. It's why you make me crazy."

* * *

**I always found it a bit disconcerting that Torian would become intimate with the hunter, even before asking her to marry him. Mandalorian tradition normally specified chastity before marriage. I always assumed it was much like our own culture - frowned on but not necessarily stringently adhered to, either. Even then, though, Torian always took a more serious bent when it came to questions of honor. He respected Mandalorian women too much to ask for any sort of intimate relationship before he "proved himself", for instance. So that's why I went in this direction, here. Because even greater than his drive to solidify his commitment to Kastiel, is his need to keep her safe, to provide for her and her needs. Even when it's just comfort and sleep.**

**Besides. Marriage is kind of a given at this point, in his mind.**

**I hope it works, fingers crossed.**

**As always, thanks for the comments and PM's. You guys are awesome.**


	71. Chapter 70 - Dxun

The _zakkeg_ burst through the driving rain, warbling a maddened cry of rage and aggression as it rushed towards them, there. Corridan shouted a warning, trying to leap out of the creature's way. But he cursed loudly as his feet came out from underneath him, so that he slid pathetically through the squelching mud of the jungle floor to land in a soggy lump onto his back. He was certain he'd be trampled under the massive paws of the stocky animal's feet. The _zakkeg_ even trumpeted what sounded like a victorious roar as it spied the downed Mandalorian, and turned its beady snout in his direction. Corridan sighed as the thing came at him, held his chin up and waited, felt the ground shaking under him as the _zakkeg_ came closer and closer.

And then it belched out a vicious cry of pain and distress, as one of the other warriors jetted into the side of its head with force enough its charge was neatly turned aside. The beast's momentum was hard enough, though, so that it ran face first into the yawning trunk of a towering tree just to the side of where Corridan lay splayed out like a flat cake on a hot cooking surface. Corridan shouted again, "Jagger!" Then he twisted his frame, trying to pull his legs up under him so that he could get up and fight, help Jagger confront the creature.

The Mandalorians were all yelling, moving quickly towards the downed figure of their _alor'ad_ and grabbing him under both arms, yanking and pulling him towards a more reasonable distance from the now-bleeding _zakkeg_. Jagger was closest to the beast, standing as firmly as he could in the muddy soil of the ground nearby the tree. He watched as the _zakkeg_ swung around, fast enough that blood flew from its torn-up jaws to splatter against the tree trunk, the ground around it, and even Jagger's own boots. He grunted, while Corridan shouted angrily at the warriors around him to help Jagger kill the animal.

Jagger raised up his rifle, sighted down the end. And he fired, loosing a bolt that flew across the short distance towards the soft vulnerable section of neck under the _zakkeg's_ horned head. The zakkeg bleated wetly through the new hole in its neck, spinning its head once again from the pain of the wound. It actually slammed its own head back against the tree, gouging another huge gash into the wood. The second blow was intense, as more blood gushed from the dying animal's mouth.

Corridan finally came to his feet just as the _zakkeg_ hit the ground, so that its last breath huffed loudly through the wet, humid air. The Mandalorian troop froze, everyone stopping to gaze in bewilderment at the downed monster of a trophy. Corridan stared across the way towards Jagger, frowning. "Well. Damn it. You ruined my skillful kill of the thing, Jagger. I was laying there waiting for it to expose its belly to my attack. Didn't you see?"

Snorts and chuckles gradually descended into wild gales of laughter, all of it rising above the steady dripping of the rain and interspersed with cheers and shouts of victory. "Oya! Oya, Jagger!"

* * *

Corridan found Torian kneeling down next Jagger, close enough to the fire that Jagger was able to see whatever he was looking at as he leaned over Torian's arm.

Corridan stopped to stare at his friend silently for a moment, remembering for one brief instance the first time he'd laid eyes on the blonde Mandalorian. Torian had been just thirteen at the time. But even then there were stories of his bravery skipping through the clans, tales that told how he'd jumped up onto the head of a charging _reek_ to try and save the life of his downed friend in a Geonosis arena. Korwis had told Corridan, once, long before he died there in that arena, even, "_He fights like his father always did, although you should never say so, not to him. But he battles like Jicoln, with a singular focus and determination. When he sets his sights on a goal, he does not stop till its finished_."

That patient, enduring tenacity was so much a part of Torian it almost defined him, until Corridan actually felt sorry for the opponents who faced him across a battlefield. Except that Torian was usually fighting alongside Corridan on those battlefields, so his sympathy never lasted very long.

Corridan edged closer to the two young warriors, now, trying to see what it was Jagger was etching into Torian's arm. He joked, "Are you telling me you took a bite from one of the _maalraas_, Torian? You must be out of practice, to let a little cat nip you."

Jagger laughed out loud, "Oh, I don't think Torian minded this particular little cat's claws."

"Shut up, Jagger, and finish." Torian's ears tinged pink as he looked down at his arm, pointedly ignoring Jagger's chuckles as the Mirialan bent back to his task. Corridan leaned over, trying to better see. He watched as Jagger swiped a cloth across Torian's arm, clearing away the extra ink as he repositioned the cauterizing tool he was using to apply the tattoo.

He hummed in admiration. Jagger's dark brown-colored design showed four slender gouge marks, made by human nails, extending down into an intricate and artistic lighting pattern that circled over Torian's arm until it swirled around his wrist. The art was vivid, exceptional. Like much of Jagger's work, actually. Corridan grinned at Torian, "You get into a fight? Looks like someone got the better of you. Scratched you good." Corridan smirked when Jagger laughed again, nearly falling over from the hard peals of laughter he loosed into the nighttime air. Torian glared up at Corridan, although his brown eyes glittered with humor, "If the art's ruined because you made him laugh, it's you I'll be blaming, Cor."

"Hey! Don't ever accuse a Mirialan of screwing up a good tattoo! We know tattoos! It's in the damn blood, I swear." Jagger shook his head in disgust at the thought, reaching for the wand once again so that he could go back to applying the ink to Torian's arm. Corridan settled himself next to them, listening to the sizzling sound of the cauterizing tool as Jagger put the final touches on the tattoo he'd been creating over the past several days.

"There. The mark's made, Torian." Jagger twisted Torian's arm back and forth, as they all stared down at the design critically.

Torian murmured, "Almost as good a work as you taking down that _zakkeg_, Jagger. Thank you."

Jagger grunted, pleased. "Would've been happier if you admitted it was better than the _zakkeg_, actually. But I'll take whatever compliments I can get." He clapped Torian on the back, looking serious all of a sudden, "Let me know when you want the matching mark made. I'll come."

Torian glanced down at the tattoo, "Soon."

"I'd imagine so," Jagger chuckled one more time as he gathered up his tools. "I'm going to finish preparing my trophy for transport. Been a good hunt!" Torian smiled as the green-skinned Mandalorian rushed off towards the drying carcass he'd trussed up earlier. He began applying the salve Jagger had prepared for him beforehand, determined to preserve the color in the mark on his arm.

Corridan leaned his head back, smiling with amusement, "I always figured she was fierce enough, even for you. But to scar you so soon? She's not as patient as you are, huh?"

Torian rubbed against the tattoo on his arm, gliding his fingers across the ghost-like lines of Kastiel's nail-marks against his skin and the ink that now emphasized them. He smiled lightly. "Waited years, actually. She's the one from Dromund Kaas. The one I told you of, that Aily and Korwis saved."

Corridan fell quiet, just staring at Torian for several long moments. He breathed in slowly, then sighed. "There's meaning to what you share together, then. Rare thing, such a bond. I would say she was always part of the _manda_, that you saw it in her, even then. It's why she always meant so much to you, why she stayed in you all these years."

Torian nodded slowly, listening to his friend carefully. Corridan's respect for the spiritual, the arcane was deeply rooted. They'd spent countless hours together contemplating esoteric questions, arguing over personal meaning and individual responsibility – what it was to be alive, to die, what to fight for, and what it all made them in the end. "She's _everything_, Corridan."

Corridan grinned, "Is this why you didn't bring her, here, for the hunt? Afraid I might have been able to entice the Champion into fighting alongside me instead, heh?"

"No." Torian shook his head, slanting a wicked grin towards him. "But I would've been pissed watching you try. I'd rather wait, until my mark's as firmly on her as hers is on me."

"Well, you'd better hurry it up. There are plenty of Mandoes that will succeed in pissing you off if you take too long."

* * *

"The Lhosan Duster is a speeder of stellar design, perfect for such a discerning customer as you yourself, I'm sure." The salesman waved his dark-skinned hands excitedly, trying to entice Kastiel towards a closer examination of the stupid bikes. She sighed, glancing to the side towards Mako, who was glaring at her as she stood there tapping a small foot impatiently.

"Are you kidding, Kas? This is the fourth speeder we've looked at today, for crying out loud! What's wrong with this one?" Mako pointed agitatedly at the machine. Kastiel grinned toothily at her.

"It's too long."

"Long? What the fuck do you mean by too long?"

"Looks like a needle-thing, all stretched out and long. And I don't like the paint color."

"Oh gods, I give up."

Gault chuckled as he leaned over the speeder, set up on a pedestal in the market section of the Imperial spacedock. He poked and prodded against the thing's controls, until the salesman angrily pushed his hands away, muttering something about "alien refuse". Gault rolled his eyes, "Bet you'd take my credits, though, huh?" The short human glared at him in response, until his thin, angular face took on a very rat-like appearance. Very unappealing, Kas thought.

Kastiel sighed towards Mako. "I bet you real credits Gault was better at selling speeders than this asshole. On Tatooine, to boot."

Mako had gone rigid when the man insulted Gault, stood there now like a stiff little statue. Hell, she didn't even glance at the shiny speeders on their pretty stands anymore. Well, there was at least that small benefit from the ordeal of tramping along through the damn market stalls, at least. Gods, she hated shopping. How did women put up with this bullshit every day, Kastiel wondered.

Mako snorted, "No bet, Kas. I think we both know this idiot isn't getting a single one of our credits at least."

"See? I told you my little Orlean speeder was good enough." Kastiel smirked as they started sauntering away from the stall, where the salesman was starting to splutter unhappily. Which, of course, made Kastiel happy. Especially when Gault followed her, a big goofy-looking grin stretching across his red, angular face.

"Don't think I'm going to drop it, either. That Orlean thing you ride around on is a piece of shit." Mako was practically stomping her foot. Again. This argument was becoming entirely too old, she thought.

"Hey, I like it. It fits all my junk there on the back."

"You got the junk part right, at least."

Kastiel stopped, staring hard at Mako with a bemused expression on her face. "What the hell's wrong, Mako? Shit, if you want a new speeder, I'll buy you one."

Mako sighed. "It's not me that needs one. Come on, Kas! You're the Grand Champion, and you still ride around on a crappy old speeder and a beat-up old ship. We're making enough credits now that you can afford nice things."

Gault watched the confused frown on Kastiel's face deepen, and laughed. "Mako, face it. Kastiel is one of those incredibly unique women who honestly doesn't give a shit about 'nice' things. Girl, you have to sell her on the practicality of a thing, in order to truly entice her."

Mako narrowed her gaze as she contemplated the Devaronian. "Fine. Let's see you do better."

"Is this a dare, my beauteous companion here in my aged retirement?"

"Aged retirement, my ass. And hell yea it's a dare!"

"What do I get when I win?"

"_When_ you win? Please. _If_ you win, I'll buy you that snazzy pair of pants I saw you eyeing at that stall down the way."

"You're on." Gault smiled at Kastiel, who had spent the entire time they hashed out the particulars of their bet glancing back and forth between them as if they were playing a game of pong right in front of her. "Kas, my sweet. Have you considered that our utterly adorable Mando companion, oh so recently added to our traveling troupe, lacks a suitable land speeder of his own? He's been borrowing mine ever since he joined the crew, mind you."

Kastiel frowned. "Shit. You think someone on this floating bucket of a spacedock would have a spare Orlean they're trying to get rid of? Come on, let's go find one."

Mako's jaw dropped as Kastiel turned and marched back towards the market section of the spacedock without even looking to see if they were following her. Gault chuckled as he meandered after her, "Better go and grab me my new pants, Mako. Chop, chop."

* * *

**Dxun was one of the four moons that orbited the planet Onderon. The surface of the moon was covered in large expanses of jungle, that were inhabited by large, fierce predatory animals. Much like Onderon. In fact, Dxun's orbit carried it so close to Onderon that the two worlds actually shared atmosphere for much of the summer months. This is probably why so many of the species common to Onderon were also found on Dxun.**

**Zakkegs were large predatory beast, alot like boars. They had a thick, scaly hide that was tough to penetrate, even with the most powerful weapons. For Mandalorians, killing a Zakkeg was a singular honor, because the large, aggressive creatures were quite capable of killing even the strongest warriors. Meetra Surik killed a Zekkeg in order to prove herself to the Mandalore, for passage to Onderon, during the events of KOTOR II.**

**The competition that eventually became the Great Hunt originated on Dxun. A test of skill, the Hunt was originally restricted to Mandalorians. Over time, it was extended to include warriors and fighters from throughout the Galaxy.**


	72. Chapter 71 -- A Traitor's Death

_She whimpered, could feel the vibration it made against her throat. But there wasn't any sound. Everything was quiet, silent. And dark. She couldn't see. She couldn't see anything! And it hurt! She felt the steady drip of something wet against her face, running down her neck onto her little chest. She pressed against the heaviness over her, pressed hard. But she couldn't move. She began to panic, whimpering madly, agitated as she tried to move, to get away from the scary men trying to hurt them all. _

_Wake up! Stop!_

_Where was her mother? Why didn't she stop them, run away …? Run faster! But it wasn't her mother's fault, wasn't anyone's fault but hers. The bad men found them, because of her. Because she'd stopped long enough to talk to her sister, the one who lived in the tall tower building near the center of the city with her Da and his wife. Because of her they'd come. And she hadn't been big enough, strong enough to make them leave, to go away._

_Where was her mother?  
Where was her da?  
Gaib? Where did he go?  
Cam?  
What happened to them?  
All her fault!  
She should've fought harder!_

_Stop it!_

_It hurts! She starts to cry, feels more wetness against her face. Her face hurts so bad! The bad man hurt her, made her face hurt. And her neck, where he held her as he picked her up, too. It all hurt so much! She was all wet, it was dripping down onto her, heavy. She was drowning in it, in the wet … Suffocating in pools of her mother's blood!_

_Torian!  
Help me!_

* * *

Kastiel thrashed against the bed, jerking awake to the darkness of her quarters. She tried to move, to leap up and away from the heaviness of the nightmare screaming through her mind. She had to get away, run away! But something stopped her, a hard, muscled arm that yanked her back down onto the cushions of the bed, until she was wrapped up in his arms, up against his chest. She felt his mouth against her ear suddenly, felt the puff of air as he breathed, heard him, "Shhh, Kastiel. _Cyare_."

She blinked blearily towards the little table nearby the bed, panting roughly as she focused on the empty stim tossed there on the surface. Kas dazedly remembered Mako pressing the stim into her hand and insisting she "get some damn sleep". She'd complied, even knowing there wasn't any medication that worked to block the memories, not when she was asleep. Falling asleep meant every barrier she put up to keep the memories at bay fell down and away, so that her mind feverishly niggled over each and every detail of the event.

But she hadn't had the heart to tell Mako that truth, just popped the stim even as she moved slowly towards her quarters. She'd barely heard Gault and Mako arguing again as her door slid closed behind her, with Gault insisting they wait until the shuttle from Onderon reached the spacedock before sending Kastiel to bed. Mako was shouting at him, "You think this is ever going to be unusual? They're Mandalorians, you damn harpy! They're going to fight apart sometimes. A lot of the time, even!" She'd been glad when the door closed and she couldn't hear them anymore.

Torian slowly eased his nose up and down against the back of her ear, now, and hummed softly. "You were calling my name. I heard you, Kas."

"Torian," she sighed. She pushed against his hold, flipping herself around until Torian lay back flat on the bed as she straddled him, cuddled his waist with her thighs and just sat there, staring down at him. He grinned up at her, reached up to hold her hips with his hands, bucked his groin up into her center, grinding against her happily enough. She glanced over, saw his armor and weapons propped against the stand she'd installed next to her own, there in the corner.

She gasped, "When'd you get back?"

"Couple of hours, now."

She leaned down, until her elbows pressed into the cushions on either side of his head and she could run her fingers through his hair, their faces so close their breaths eased against the sensitive skin of each other's face. "How was it?"

"Amazing. Met with Corridan and half my unit on Onderon, shuttled over to Dxun. Good hunting. _Bomas_ and _maalraas_ mostly. Brought you some of the meat, make you something good to eat." He reached up, touched his fingers softly against the implants under her eye before running his hand down along the side of her face. She closed her eyes, sighing, leaning into the oh-so-familiar touch, as he soothed away the last vestiges of the nightmare.

"No fireside rug?" She tried teasing, although her tone was still too heavy.

He smiled. "Would have if I could. _Maalraas_ aren't known for their fur, just their mange. Jagger bagged a _zakkeg_, though. Lucky _jare_. Spent the rest of the time showing off his trophy." He felt her hands running down along his sides, up and over his chest and then down both his arms, still clasped there against her waist. Her breasts were squashed into his chest and he slowly flexed his muscles there, just playing.

"What's this?" Kastiel sat back upright again, canting her head as she considered the design painted into the skin of his arm.

"Jagger is a good artist, inked my arm. Gave him a rifle, for payment." Torian watched her, the way she regarded the tattoo. He slowly wiggled under her, so he could feel the warmth of her growing wetness where he so wanted it. She twisted her gaze back towards him, still holding his arm up so that she could see the different curves of the design, her dark eyes gleaming at him. He smiled, "Art on the skin is safer than jewels."

"Can't be ripped off." She nodded slowly. Then she smirked at him, "Means you'll always wear my mark, Torian."

"Always." He gasped when she began rocking her hips back and forth on top of him, enjoying the sensation.

"Well. That's just not fair. Here you are, all gussied up. And I don't have a mark from you on my own skin."

He smiled, gripped her waist solidly as he spun them both around until she was laying under him and he stretched out over on top of her. He slowly rubbed his chest back and forth against the plump mounds of her breasts, until her nipples peaked into hard nubs that he could feel poking into his chest. "That's why I gave Jagger a really _good_ rifle. For yours, too."

She moaned against his mouth, then, as he leaned down to kiss her, ran his tongue along the seam of her lips before slowly penetrating her mouth, and slowly, carefully pushed his cock inside of her as deep and hard as he could go.

* * *

"Your brother is beyond exceptional, hunter. He's defied every one of my expectations. Truly. I never thought he'd last this long."

Kastiel glared up at the image on the holoterminal, her fists clenched against her sides. Torian eased closer to her, subtly, appearing to almost unconsciously shift. But Gault cared little for such careful gamesmanship. He sighed loudly, rolling his eyes from where he stood nearby. Kas finally snarled at the figure, "Impressing you was never high on my list of priorities, X, so I could give a real shit how much admiration you feel at the moment. I only want to know he's fucking okay."

His expression didn't change even an iota. The man looked as calm and controlled, standing there watching her, as he ever did. She knew he was sizing her up, her and everyone there with her, too. She'd wondered over the wisdom of gathering her people around her for this transmission. But she decided in the end the crazy bastard probably knew everything there was to know about her and hers already, most likely. What would be the real point of trying to hide even nuances from him today?

"Then, no. He's most assuredly not 'fucking okay'. Although he's pretty good at 'fucking', mind you. Your baby brother stays very busy in that regard. I'm not sure he derives as much pleasure from it as the act might normally induce, actually."

She shrugged, nonchalant. Gaibriel spent enough time plowing his way through half the galaxy. Didn't surprise her in the least if Khyriel was taking on the other half. "His sex life isn't on my list of priorities, either. Trust me. How bad is it?"

X shrugged, as if he was unconcerned. Kastiel had come to know his gestures fairly well, however. Any sort of physical reaction, movements, body language – when he moved or otherwise shifted, it was a sign of agitation, of bother. She knew, watching him now, that X was seriously pissed off. "I very nearly lost him. Had to make direct contact. Everything up until now has been subtle, mind you. Whispers mostly. But he was breaking, and hard. I reached out to him."

Kas breathed in slowly, lowering her gaze as she thought fast. Torian bumped her shoulder softly with his own, so that she leaned into him for only a moment. "Is he hurting?"

"Every single moment, yes. The pain is … There are no real words to describe it, hunter." Then he ran his hand through his now thick dark black hair, sighing. She blinked at him, bemused at the utterly unfamiliar gesture. Kastiel wondered what horrible memories _he_ woke up screaming from during the night, wondered who helped him get back to sleep again after. She shuddered lightly, refusing to leave her brother to suffer a similar fate. X seemed to share the sentiment, because his gaze hardened suddenly. "I know where you are, and what you plan. It won't really stop what's already been set in motion, mind you. But I'm coming to believe he's strong enough, too."

X leaned closer to the terminal, his dark eyes intent as he almost glared at her. "Do it. And make sure it hurts." Kastiel nodded, promising.

* * *

Fixer 41. That's what they called her. Bastards that they were. As if she didn't have a real name, one they'd stolen away from her when they reduced her down to a fucking number, a meaningless drone of a woman who damn well deserved better. She did! She always did!

She looked around the cramped office quarters where they'd shoved her, imagining the bright, pretty surroundings that other members of Imperial Intelligence surely enjoyed. Not like this place, with its dark, dreary walls that barely managed to obscure the sound of the steady rainfall on the streets outside. Oh how she hated Kaas City, where rich snobs pushed lowly fixers out of the way as they rushed to their next tea or party at the Nexxus Club.

She frowned grumpily when the door to her office opened wide and two armored figures stepped inside. The man wore a helmet that covered his head and obscured his face. But the woman's head was bare, and 41 watched as she shook her head, hard, so that the droplets of water that saturated her black hair went flying in wide arcs around the room.

"Hey! Don't make a bloody mess on the damn floor! You won't be the one who has to clean it, now will you?" Fixer 41 glared at her, making the bright orange paint highlighting her eyes twist against her temples. She was inordinately proud of her make-up, worked hours every morning to ensure it perfectly matched her orange-red hair. She'd be damned if this soggy woman ruined it with her head-shaking routine and all the rain water it sent flying all over the place.

There was a shift outside the door of the place, a subtle sense of movement, something large, and Fixer 41 cocked her head as she tried to discern it for only a moment. Was someone out there? But then the door closed, leaving her alone with what was obviously two Mandalorians. What would induce two low-classed mercenaries to come here, though?

"Who are you? What do you want?" The Fixer glared at the woman, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned onto one slender hip. Her uniform's starchy surface irritated her sensitive skin all over again, reminding her she was very nearly out of the special creams – imported all the way from Alderaan! - that she used to keep herself comfortable. But the stuff was so damn expensive! How she'd manage to get funds enough to buy more from that black market contact of her, she wasn't sure just yet. But a few tweaks of the computer console might net her a tidy bit of resource, too.

But first she had to get rid of the stupid nobody in front of her. "The Mandalorians have their very own fancy Enclave, just near the Citadel. Although I'm not sure how comfortable it is. Mandalorians tend to eschew minor comforts, do they not? Regardless, chance are that's where you belong, rather than bothering me with your nonsense."

The Mandalorian woman smiled. "You're called Norra Tirn, right?"

The red-haired Fixer felt her jaw drop as she stared at the woman. "How did you know that? Everyone calls me Fixer 41!"

"Well, that's plain stupid, since _I_ just called you Norra Tirn," the woman laughed lightly. She turned to her companion, said something in a language that Fixer 41 didn't understand. The man huffed an amused sound. Damn Mandalorians! The woman turned back around to face her again, the low light of the office flashing across the implants under her eyes. Fixer 41 turned a snide gaze towards the ugly expanse of scarred skin along the side of the woman's face, sneered at the way the scars reached down across her throat.

"You really should do something to hide your face, like your friend there." Fixer 41 waved a single hand in the man's direction, negligent and uncaring.

The woman only shrugged. "Yea, you seem like someone pretty fucking intent on keeping yourself all pretty and sweet-looking. How much do you spend on all that crap you use? Hell, the damn tool you use to clean your teeth – what was it called again, Torian? – that spiffy little tool cost a bleeding fortune! Smuggled out of Corellia, wasn't it?"

The man nodded his helmeted head. "An ultrasound cleaner, Kas. Cost twelve thousand credits."

Kastiel snapped her fingers. "That's right! An ultrasound cleaner. Too bad for you, the fellow selling the things down in the Lower Levels didn't survive the telling."

Fixer 41 blanched, her face turning blotchy with terrible fear. "Who are you?"

"Me? No one special. Because no one's ever going to care enough, that I killed you here today. Certainly not enough to go looking for me, anyway. I doubt your real name will even be a footnote in some history book somewhere. You'll just be … the fucking traitorous whore who sold an agent to the SIS for a gods-damned ultrasound cleaner." Kastiel shook her head, smiling darkly, "Oh, and the paste, too. Mustn't forget the paste you use with your cleaner!"

Torian nodded. "The paste cost three thousand credits."

The Fixer held her hands up, desperately terrified. She could feel her stomach knotting viciously, cramps pulling against her diaphragm as fear for her life twisted through her. "Wait! Please! You don't understand. I can be an asset, I'm one of the best slicers in the city! Intelligence uses me to train their own agents, even! I can help expose SIS agents here in the city! I can help you!"

Kas shook her head. "Oh, Norra. How is it you think we found you? One SIS agent at a time. Hell, I've already made quite a tidy sum giving the information about the ones I found over to Imperial Intelligence. I think they're in love with me by now. Still. It was always you I wanted to locate."

"But why? I don't understand this!" She was shaking so hard the oiled fringes of her hair began tumbling down around her forehead.

"And see? That's the question _I_ was going to ask. Why that particular agent? What was it, sheer chance? A bit of luck, coming across that nugget of valuable information? Or did you go looking for it? Why?" Kas stepped closer, glaring at the fool Fixer with her eyes like cold, dark granite.

"The Cipher? What are you, another one of his floozies? He certainly spreads himself around, doesn't he?" She sniffed, enjoying the thrill of anger far more than the fear. Anger was better than fear, helped her focus.

Kastiel stopped, surprised. "Are you serious? Tell me you didn't sell him to the SIS for something as damn stupid as him turning a blind eye to your beautified self." Kas snorted with the most profound disgust. Torian grunted from behind her, a _mando'a_ curse spilling from his lips, "Greedy bitch. Finish it, Kas."

"I'm better than that damn Watcher 2! Prettier, even! But he didn't even look at me, not even once!" Fixer 41 actually stomped her fucking foot. Kastiel stared at her. Just stared. Then she shook herself.

"Enough." Kastiel ignored her as she jumped smoothly up onto the table where the Fixer's slicing tools were gathered together, raising her fist towards the ceiling so she could loose a maghook that adhered to the surface, there. The Fixer gaped at the cable now extending down towards the floor of the place, watched with an incredible level of obtuseness as Kas worked fast to create a neat loop in the cable.

"What the hell are you doing," the Fixer demanded.

Kastiel grinned back at her, "Need to make sure there's space enough for your head through this thing, huh? Wouldn't want your neck to break, anyway. That would be too easy, too quick."

"What?" The ninny became even more pale, if that was possible. She suddenly tried to run, turning around as if to rush through the door. But Torian caught her, held her firm against his armored chest. He shook the woman, snarling at her, "Die with some pride. If you can!"

"This is crazy! You can't do this! He's just one agent, just someone you fucked, right? Nothing special!" She twisted and pulled against the hard fingers that held her in place. She tried kicking him, hard, but yelped against the pain the blossomed in her foot when her toe broke against the Torian's armored shin.

Kastiel crooked a finger, gesturing for Torian to bring the woman close enough. Torian dragged her easily across the room, ignoring her yelps. Kas reached down, grabbed the woman's short hair and yanked, twisting her head. The woman shrieked, desperate and shrill, as the cable dropped down around her neck. Kastiel leaned back, looking up at the maghook briefly.

Fixer 41 screamed, "He's no one! Stop this!"

Kastiel hunkered down onto a slim knee, there on top of the table, until she was face to face with the Fixer. She ran her dark brown eyes lazily across the woman's features, while her fingers drifted down to tap against the button controlling the maghook. She listened to the woman's whimpers, her head canted softly to the side. Then she leaned closer, looming in Fixer 41's gaze, "I might have given a shit about your pitiful whining sobs, if it had been any other agent, Norra. But you messed with _my_ brother. You hurt _mine_! For nothing! So fuck you."

Kas saw the realization light in the woman's eyes, watched it dawn on her this wasn't a paid contract, wasn't Intelligence sending a Mando to clean up one of their damn messes. She watched the Fixer finally understand, and she smiled. The click of the button was loud in the air, then.

Fixer 41 started to scream but the sound was abruptly cut off as she was yanked off her feet to dangle at a predetermined height that Kastiel had carefully gauged as she was preparing the device. Torian snorted softly, stepping around the Fixer's kicking legs to stand next to the table where Kastiel was still kneeling.

They watched the process coolly, watched as the woman tried desperately to pull at the cable held tight around her neck, scratching so hard she left bloody gouges against the skin there. Her body twisted around, gyrating sickly in the air as she kicked futilely. Great gasping wheezes filled the space. Until she finally gave up the fight and went still, giving out one single last strangled gasp before it was finally finished. All that was left was the body, swinging gently back and forth while the stench of urine filled the room.

Torian nodded. "A traitor's death."

"Yea. And far less messy than it could've been. Didn't even fight worth a damn." Kastiel nodded towards the door. "Bring Gramum. The Wookiee will know the best way to get rid of this trash, so that Intelligence doesn't pick up on what she was doing." Torian inclined his chin, ghosting a touch across her knuckles before he moved towards the door. Kastiel stayed silent, watched the body swinging as she thought, mentally crossing her fingers that the woman's death gave Khyriel just a little more time. Time enough to beat the bastards at their own sick game, at least.


	73. Chapter 72 -- A Language for a Language

"What sort of hunt is it?" Corso looked at Mako, curious. Kastiel continued to befuddle him, anyway. She wasn't anything like the sweet, simple women that he was accustomed to, who'd run for the nearest shelter at the first sign of trouble. She wasn't even much like Mako, who'd probably fight tooth and nail to defend someone from trouble, rather. But Kas? Kastiel _was_ the trouble most women ran from, he thought.

"A tough one. Apparently gone so long without success, the client assumed no one was even looking for the bastard anymore. Kas will take down that pirate, though, no worries." Mako hummed happily as she leaned to the side of her small holoterminal to look out through the viewport towards the crews working at loading crates onto a nearby vessel. A Sith transport, it looked like. Then she blinked as she caught sight of the slight blue-skinned Twi'lek arguing with some of the spacedock workers, gesticulating wildly with her little hands. "Dammit. What're they doing here?"

"What? Mako, what's the matter?" Corso actually reached out to tap against the holoterminal screen, trying to grab at her attention again. She chuckled sourly as she regarded his image.

"Kas' Sithy sister is here on-planet, too."

Corso laughed lightly. "Sithy feet." Mako frowned at him, confused. "That's what the Captain said to the last Sith we ran into. Said he hoped she'd blistered her Sithy feet. We were on Tattoine at the time."

"Well, not like anyone on this planet will be blistering their feet. Frostbite, maybe. This place is as frigid as a witch's tit." Mako shook her head, thinking. "Seriously. Some Imperial lackey gave Kas a special set of cold-weather gear. That and advice on something called Wampas. Huge beasts that'll eat you alive, they told us."

Corso was startled. "Wait a minute, Mako. Are you telling me Kas - and her Sith sister, apparently - are both on _Hoth_ right now?"

"And her brother, too. Gault went off to do some scouting, keeping an eye on Khyriel."

Corso leaned back, looking skyward as he contemplated the compelling sense of disaster he was feeling all of a sudden. "Mako, Gaib and I will be planetside in just under two hours. We're going to nab a shipment … on Hoth."

Mako gaped. "That means … Wait. They're _all_ going to Hoth right now?"

* * *

Kastiel eyed the red-eyed Chiss, the jail warden introduced to her as Khel, with a slightly bemused expression. She wanted to reach out and touch the man's deep blue skin, to judge if it really was so cold as it looked. Surrounded by the icy plains of the planet, it wasn't such a strange wonderment, really. Torian had told her the Chiss came from another frozen world, even colder than Hoth, he said. "_They call it Csilla. Entire place covered in thick glaciers. The people live under the ground, use machines that produce heat_." Not surprising they'd find Hoth comfortable, she supposed, as the Chiss stabbed the air with one blue hand, his palm upraised.

"You'd better have a real good reason for just strolling in here," Khel barked at her. Kastiel's head canted to the side as she considered the man's tone. She could only barely detect an unfamiliar accent in the Chiss' speech, enough she leaned closer to hear him better. Khel frowned at her angrily. "Well?"

Oh, his speech was smooth and regular, the Basic he was using flowing seamlessly, even easily – like he'd been speaking the language the entirety of his life. Ask most anyone and he would've been pegged as a native of some minor world in the Empire itself, his use of the language flowed so well. But she was well able to discern the undertones of an unfamiliar accent, no matter the practice he'd surely given to his use of Basic. She was fascinated.

Kastiel shrugged lightly, as if unconcerned. She eyed the guards standing behind Khel, glaring at her balefully, like menacing hounds. She wondered if they were as well able to hide their native accents as the warden himself was, but the two Chiss remained utterly quiet as they stood there, stiffly. Probably not, she decided. She handed Khel the datapad that included the codes the Aristocra called Hadro had provided her. "Here to question your prisoner. Some sort of pirate, right?"

"None of your damn business!" He turned his crimson gaze down to the datapad, glaring. She murmured quietly, trying to match the man's tone, playing with the vocal emulations, just to see if she could actually emulate the cadence of his accent. She was practicing. It startled Khel. He stabbed hard eyes back up at her, even raised a hand as if to grab at her. But Torian growled a low, threatening sound, stepping close enough he loomed over Kastiel's shoulder to shake his head in warning towards the Chiss. The message was clear enough, Khel surmised. The female wasn't to be touched, not without reprisal.

Khel narrowed his eyes at Torian, before turning back to her, "I'll verify this is authentic. You? Stand right here and don't move." Kas smirked as he spun on his heel and marched back through the nearby cold-looking doorway, her datapad still clutched in his hand.

Torian muffled a laugh from behind her, "Not so cold as they look, huh?"

"Yea. Rather hot-blooded, aren't they? Not that I was even wondering." Kas blatantly lied. She stumbled only slightly when Torian playfully butted his shoulder against her back, and chuckled. "You think I can convince one of them to teach me their language. What's it called?"

"_Cheunh_, I think. At least I think you want that language, and not the one they use when they're talking to foreigners. _Minnisiat_ is the language used in Chiss space when they're trading. Common enough." Torian's gaze roamed the entranceway critically, noted the way the guards' attention perked only when he used the familiar terms that described their language. He grunted softly, "These ones don't understand _Mando'a_, though. Good, huh? A lot of Chiss come into our space to hunt bounties, fought with some of them. Thought maybe they would've picked it up at some point. But these Chiss are pure military, I guess. Not hunters."

Kastiel smiled. "Less competition on Hoth is a good thing. Although military might not be willing to stop long enough to teach me, either."

He grunted softly. "You'd pick it up fast, though. Speak _Mando'a_ like a Mando born and raised. Beautiful listening to the words in your voice." She blushed, he knew. Such an easy game of temptation, he thought. With the added benefit of keeping her skin warm. He huffed a brief sound of satisfaction. She leaned her shoulder back into Torian's chest suddenly, knocking him just enough off-balance that he clucked his tongue in pretended affront.

Both of them glanced up, though, when Khel returned, stepping carefully into the entranceway with his bright red eyes downcast. "Please. Follow me. I'll show you to the prisoner now. And I apologize for my earlier … reticence."

Kas stared at him for a moment, confused at what was obviously a real apology. Even Imperials caught in the middle of a faux pas tended to offer unctuous phrases that ended up sounding too oily to be true. She cocked her head to the side as she considered him, "You Chiss are … unique. I thought you fought for an Empire, of sorts."

Khel frowned. "The Ascendency is supreme."

"Oh. Well, that attitude's more familiar, at least." Kastiel grunted as she followed him into the inner rooms of the Chiss jail, with its holding cells lining several walls. Khel shook himself as he eyed the strange woman, covered in hard Mandalorian iron, until even her face was obscured. She seemed bluntly fierce, a rather unfamiliar attitude in his experience, where most people utilized more subtle machinations, more stealth and subterfuge.

The sound of yelps and shouts drifted out to them suddenly, there in the hallway, until Khel was practically trotting towards the door that lead into the room where the most secure cells in his facility were located. He stopped, staring dumbfounded into the room once he reached the doorway. Kastiel stepped closer, standing next to him as they both took in the spectacle, of a short, squat little Jawa – a Jawa, of all things! – running circus-like rings around a group of trained Chiss soldiers.

The guards were all armed with energy prods, waving the sticks around with angry, desperate motions, all of them trying to catch against the small frame of the little Jawa. He sailed out of their reach every single time, though, so that the edges of his brown robe swung only briefly to expose little legs covered in black leathered trousers and tiny black boots. He tried chittering at them even as he moved, calling out, "Tried to help! Fixed your bright sticks! Charges better, stronger now! So don't hit _me_ with them, no! It will hurt _more_! Stop! Ohhhh … poor blue man." Kastiel bit her lip to keep from laughing when one of the Chiss managed to make contact with his energy prod, hitting a fellow guard squarely in the center of his chest. The stricken guard cried out in wild pain, his body suspended stiffly in the air as spasms rippled through his figure. His dark blue-looking hair stood on end as he urinated helplessly, in agony. The entire group stood frozen. The Jawa pointed, jabbering, "See? Works better!"

One of the guards pierced the slight creature with an angry glare, snarling, "I'm going to kill it."

Kastiel leaned closer to the warden, "So tell me. Are there more Jawas acting as pirates in the White Maw? Or is this one unique?"

Khel's eyebrows shot high against his forehead. "A Jawa? Is that what it's called?"

Torian grinned behind his faceplate, leaning closer into Kastiel's back so he could grumble against her ear, joking, "If the pirates are all so dangerous as a Jawa that can take down a squad of Chiss, we may have issues." Kas couldn't help it. She laughed loudly, dragging the attention of the battling group inside of the room. The guards gaped over at them. But the Jawa chirped happily enough, rushing towards them.

Khel glared at the Chiss guards. "You were incapable of securing the little monster?" The guards began arguing, insisting the creature was physically or mentally enhanced, somehow. Force-sensitive, maybe, one of the men cried out. Khel harrumphed a derisive sound, utterly disgusted. It didn't help that the hunters seemed well able to understand whatever language the Jawa was using when it communicated, either.

Kastiel leaned down onto a knee as the Jawa gesticulated, chattering at her in pure Jawaese. The clicks and chirps of the language were familiar enough after the weeks she'd spent on Tatooine, where so many of the vendors were Jawas. She waved a hand towards the Jawa, clicking her tongue when he snatched one of her blasters smoothly from her hip, the motion so easy she could only shake her head in bewilderment at him.

"Good blaster! You keep it working, good oils. Big, though. How can you hold it in your hand without it hurting?"

Kas smiled. "Give it back, and I'll show you."

"You understand me! That's good! The blue men were getting angry with Blizz, because none of them knew how to talk. Scary when big people get angry." Blizz shuddered lightly, as if remembering something painful. Kastiel frowned, looking down at the rather buff-looking little Jawa, even though she was kneeling. The other members of his species that she'd observed tended towards a leaner appearance, until she'd assumed they were all brief skinny creatures. But this one was bulkier across the chest and shoulders. Even if he did come up to just her thigh in height.

She smirked as he leaned his head far back, enough that he could see her from under the hood his little face was hidden inside of, until she could just make out the bright, polished orange gemstones he used to protect his sensitive eyes from too much light. He kept right on chittering madly, with one sentence running wildly into the next until it seemed little more than a crazed ride of curiosity spilling from the little thing. "You a fighter! Seen fighters like you before, all covered up in hard metal. I like the metal you use, even light sticks can't break it. Good metal, expensive. You paint it? Why did you pick those colors? Ohh! You have firebox on your back! Does it make you go high up? How high can you go? Show!"

"I'll kill it, warden! Right now!" One of the guards stomped towards the Jawa with deliberate intention, his fist angrily clutching his energy prod. Kas stood up suddenly, thrusting the startled Jawa behind her legs. Blizz yelped, huddling behind Kastiel and suddenly eyeing the hard-toed boots of another unfamiliar fighter. Torian grunted when Blizz snatched at his hand, twisting his arm back and forth as he studied the contraption the Mandalorian used to spit streams of fire at his opponents. The Jawa chattered happily enough as he studied Torian's entire armor.

"Back off. Blizz, here, has information I can use to find my target. Last thing I need is a bunch of humiliated Chiss trying to fry him to death, okay?" Kastiel crossed her arms across her chest as she confronted the Chiss. Khel sighed, then.

"We haven't understood a word the thing's said since it was brought here. But it keeps breaking loose from its confines and taking apart everything it gets its grubby little paws on. It's driving me and my people to distraction!" Khel leaned to the side, trying to better observe the Jawa that was still playing with the Mandalorian man's armor. The Mando didn't seem overly concerned, either. He just pointed to various pieces, trying to show the creature whatever seemed to spark his curiosity, grunting periodically as the beast continued chattering. "And it stinks!"

"It's a Jawa. They abhor bathing, consider it a waste of water on their homeworld. And they use oils of some sort to keep their clothes from losing moisture, too."

"Why would they need to do such a thing?"

Kas cocked one dark eyebrow at him. "You've never heard of Tatooine?"

Khel looked at the Jawa again, frowning. "It comes from a desert world? How the hell did it end up here?"

She leaned back, snapping her fingers with dramatic flair. "Excellent question! I could perhaps figure that out. If only you guys wouldn't try to kill him, hmm?"

Khel grunted, waving aside the still-irate guard who kept raising his energy prod menacingly. "We didn't understand it when it spoke."

"Jawaese isn't so difficult to learn, actually." She rocked on her heels, looking thoughtful all of a sudden. "I could provide you holotranslations of the language. In exchange."

Khel narrowed his eyes. "I was told Mandalorians focus on prices for the services they provide. What do you want?"

Torian smiled as he watched Kastiel get from the Chiss exactly what she'd wanted from the moment he opened his blue mouth. "Want to learn how to speak _Cheunh_, of course. A language for a language. Deal?"

* * *

Blizz felt like he'd found a paradise to explore, there in the two fighters. He sniffed at them slowly, increasingly happy as he soaked in the scent of the emotions that emulated from their bodies. No anger, no frustration. These two were comfortable, engaging. They joked with each other, felt close and protective of each other. He liked them.

Especially when the female stood between him and the angry blue man. She was fierce, a strong fighter. Her skin sizzled with the fervor of it, that she wouldn't be cowed or undone, not even by the most ferocious threat. Her male watched her carefully, protective even as he occupied Blizz himself with all the most shiny parts of his armor. Blizz leaned closer to him, trying to capture the man's most unique scent, so elusive in the big people who visited his home planet and, now, this world, too, with its expanses of white, cold sand.

There! Blizz sighed as he took in the man's identifying odor, so that he'd be able to find him even in the midst of a crowd, or some dark, scary place maybe. His scent was a good one, like wood and other strong, living things, like he spent a lot of time moving through wild, untamed places. And it was all over the female, like a glaring marker, a sign of possession, that he'd taken her, mated her. Her scent – of gun oils and metal, like she belonged to wet worlds and cold, hard places – that was on him, too, strong enough he knew they'd mated only hours earlier.

He found them fascinating, wanted to explore the both of them, learn who they were and what they were all about. He wondered dazedly if he could take apart their metal armor, figure out how it worked. He'd make it better, he knew it! He almost asked, until he realized the female was arguing heatedly with the blue man leader. She ultimately turned to face Blizz, hunkered down again. He liked that, too, liked that she wasn't afraid to face him on equal terms.

"You're called Blizz, huh?" She nodded towards her male, "Torian and me are looking for Reneget Vause. You know him?"

"Boss man, yea! He was mad after Jreely Toomb said there were things under my bunk. Took me out into the white sand, told the other big men to hurt me. I ran, but the blue men found me, brought me here." Blizz spoke as he always did, rapidly, like firing off blaster bolts until the words seemed to zing through the air. But he could see her frowning down at him, nonetheless. As if she could tell how much it hurt him, to be that misused, so mislead – by men he'd considered friends, trusted.

She stood up, crossed her arms across her chest. Blizz admired the way the light flashed against the metallic edges of her armor as she looked down at him. She spoke firmly, "You want Vause to pay for that? I can punish him for you."

She was offering him a promise. The sound of it quivered in the air. Blizz considered her carefully, remembering the fear and terror of the men's sudden attack against him in the strange, cold world outside. He thought of what it would be like, for them to be that afraid, to face someone as strong and capable as this fighter and her mate. He thought of it, and he liked the thought they would finally understand how terrible it was, what they'd done.

"I know where Boss is! I'll tell you!"


	74. Chapter 73 -- Chasing a Lizard thru Snow

**Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. Real life's been kicking me in the butt lately, sigh.**

* * *

"Scorekeeper. I know my _Jagannath_ is great, that You see me and feel great pride. Grant me today a hunt worthy of my name in Your eyes."

The wind hurried across the landscape, making the snow swirl up into mad, winging flurries against the cold blue sky. He lifted his arms against the same sky, like he was waving to the wind, the snow. He left his face exposed, as it was supposed to be when paying homage to the Scorekeeper. Although Vause kept his face exposed most often, simply to prove to everyone who looked on him he was stronger, tougher than even the average _T'Doshak_.

He lowered his head, thinking, listening to the first milling sounds of the men behind him. He grinned with a savage sort of smile as they began pushing and shoving each other awake, whispering among themselves, asking, "Does he ever sleep? Have you ever seen him sleep?" It was good for them to fear, to wonder over his strength and prowess. Let them ponder it at length, he thought.

Qyzen had sent word, said he was following the Scorekeeper's Herald now. He asked him to take care, said there was a low-born _T'Doshak_ cheating for a place in their people's esteem. Vause snorted softly, disgusted. Not that he doubted Qyzen's word over such tactics. But that Qyzen tried claiming a Herald was leading him, that was something worth doubting. More likely Qyzen was seeking some sort of redemption, so he claimed such a miracle.

Regardless. Vause raised his face, looking up as the wind ripped a new line of cruel air across his yellow-scaled features. He was Reneget Vause, with so much _Jagannath_ that the White Maw preened over him, called him by names which made small children weep in the dark. They called him the Serpent of the Void … the Sarlacc in Scales … the Hunter of Worlds.

He was _T'Doshak_.

None could defeat him.

* * *

Torian tugged against the tube running over Kastiel's shoulder, studying it critically for any single tear or loose connection leading into the back of her chestplate. She stood still as he scrutinized the thing, humming lightly as he yanked and pulled against the various tubes and connections. He was methodical, precise in every one of his motions, absolutely determined to ensure not a single leak released the warmth pulsing softly against Kas' skin.

In this environment, every bit of protection was vital, she knew, and she tolerated Torian's examination with the same calm acceptance he'd given her own, earlier. She smiled when he finished the inspection with a small pat on her rear, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Torian shrugged at her, pretending innocence. "Is that a promise, Torian?"

"Always."

"I'll hold you to it."

He grunted softly. "Something to look forward to, then."

She laughed as they approached the doors leading out into the wide expanse of Hoth terrain. The glare off the snow was painfully bright, and Kas narrowed her eyes reflexively. She searched the entrance to the garrison carefully, trying to acclimate herself to the new world, until she noted a flash of red from the corner of her eye.

Lusiel.

Her sister was bundled carefully against the cruel climate, but her dark hair extended from underneath the scarlet red head covering she was wearing. And maybe Kastiel would have disregarded her as yet another Sith moving among the Imperials here on Hoth all covered up the way she was, except for the two men she was addressing as she stood there.

One of the men was large, burly, with red hair cropped ultra-short into neat rows on top of his head. Pierce, she remembered. From Taris. Who fought her for control of a dead Rakghoul, Kas chuckled as she remembered. The other man was slighter, leaner, although obviously fit enough, with dark hair he was just then in the process of covering. She recalled Captain Quinn quite well, liked him far better than she did the lieutenant. And Quinn was one Imperial who never strayed far from her sister's side, since she'd taken to watching them.

Torian was confused, butted against her shoulder softly, questioning without saying a word. She inclined her chin in Lusiel's direction, "_Ner_ _vod_." He examined the small frame of Kastiel's sister, the way she moved and sensed, and he huffed, "Not like you. Too stiff. Proper."

"Sith are strange in a lot of ways."

"Yea."

Kastiel heard the chirp of her commlink as they both stood there, watching Lusiel directing her people as they prepared to move away from the garrison. Mako's image there on the link blinked into view, "Kas! Your sister's on Hoth!" Kastiel grinned behind her faceplate, as Quinn finished lecturing the lieutenant and handed him a datapad.

"You don't say."

* * *

Kastiel decided it was the wind that did it, really. It rushed over the landscape, wooshing, sending the snow swirling up to blind a person even before the cold actually smacked them into cool shock. It certainly made the men down below shiver and shake as it caught against their forms. She smiled behind her faceplate as she watched a pudgy Gamorrean character actually knocked over under the force of moving air, even.

She watched the Trandoshan moving swiftly across the expanse to kick the oafish fellow square in the ass, so that he squealed as he yanked his legs under him and jumped back to his thick, bulging feet once again. Vause yelled after his running figure, ignoring the laughter of the other pirates watching the spectacle, "Lose your balance and you lose your life! No time to waste on you! Get out of here!"

Reneget Vause was pale for his species, with his scaly skin looking almost yellow as he stalked back and forth across the snow. She chuckled low, "He'd better not take a piss on the snow. He'd match!" Torian choked back a laugh, leaning against her back as they knelt down to watch the strange training motions the pirates were making against the snow-filled chasm below.

"Don't give him ideas, Kas. Harder to find him if he blends in."

Kastiel snorted softly, just as Vause stalked over to the Icetromper the pirates had secured in place there in the entrance to the cavernous chasm. There were so many crevices and crags on the planet, that they'd taken to surveying each step even before moving forward, just to avoid tumbling into a horrid drop no armor would work to save them from. But Vause moved without regard for any chance of danger, as if he owned the damn place.

Arrogant, she thought. There was weakness in anyone's belief they couldn't be overcome, when confidence turned to deadly recklessness. She could use that against Vause, before she was through. She canted her head, watching as he swiped against the Icetromper's thick, bulbous legs, so that the animal trumpeted, bellowed in horrible pain as it tumbled and fell face forward against the icy ground. Thick streams of bright, red blood billowed against the snow and ice, as Vause waved the men forward, shouting in that strange, hissing voice common to Trandoshans, "Maybe you can actually manage to finish it off?"

Kastiel shook her head as the pirates stumbled over themselves, rushing forward to hack and slash at the dying Icetromper. "Clumsy shits. These are the fools the Chiss are chasing their tails to defeat? Seriously?"

"Well. You've shown that even a monkey-lizard can take out a decent fighter."

Kastiel watched the pirates making a clean kill into a sodden butchery, bewildered. "No. My monkey-lizard is brighter and more capable than these asses."

Torian smiled grimly. "Or the monkey-lizard is exceptional. Either way, we've gotten good practice before facing Hoth's pirates, hmm?"

"I'll have to reward Quinnie for being such a good training tool." Kastiel raised herself up, moving forward with steady purpose. She felt Torian fall into place behind her, both of them easing forward until Vause finally discerned their approach. The reptile-man spun around, hissing at them as they stepped close enough to him they could've spit him on a damn stick. He glared at them in that strange way Trandoshans showed anger and upset, so that his scaly skin took on an even more sallow look, gleaming like sick mustard against the white backdrop of snow.

"Mandalorians." Reneget Vause was lizard enough, Kastiel thought, that he wasn't able to truly lob a glob of spittle as he said the word. But the feeling was obvious enough. She smiled at her target, leaning close.

"At least you're a tad brighter than your … friends, there." Kas waved a hand dismissively towards the other pirates, all of them milling around behind Vause, splattered liberally with Icetromper blood and guts. "Hey, they managed to actually hit it. You should be proud. Your efforts at teaching them seem to be paying off."

Vause hissed at them, although that was quite probably his natural voice. He seemed more bored at the interruption than anything else. "You must be seeking one of the bounties on my head. Mandalorians play at hunting. But you hide your soft flesh behind tough armor, hide your faces. You're afraid to face your enemies with heads held high." Vause glanced behind him, taking in the gore-covered pirates shivering in the cold air. Another gust of wind caused the Gamorean to tumble backwards onto his ass again, and Vause made an impatient sound. "Perhaps you have some use today, however."

Kastiel murmured towards him, "Need another Icetromper for your fools to hack at, huh?"

Vause bared his teeth, the Trandoshan semblance of a smile, she supposed. "Save me the trouble of dragging another one, here. Won't waste my time on unworthy targets."

Kas shrugged, unconcerned. "Don't blame you for giving up on teaching these guys anything worthwhile. Although I wouldn't make a habit of it, either. Eventually, even pirates will avoid your teaching methods, if it's tossing them to the wolves that becomes your primary method of instruction."

Vause stared at her, silently, sliding his gaze across the faceplate that covered her bare features from his sight. For only a moment, he felt a niggling doubt, that this particular Mandalorian wasn't the tease of challenge he'd first assumed. Only perhaps had the Scorekeeper deigned to send him a fight worthy of his _Jagannath_. Then he shifted his hard-eyed gaze to the male standing behind the woman, the way he hovered there, determinedly strong.

Mandalorians. Always afraid of facing enemies with their heads held high, their faces bared, their throats exposed. They relied on armors to hide behind and friends to take their blows. He snorted to himself.

This woman was no threat. Not to him. And only maybe to the pirates he left behind as he went. Kastiel watched him go, sighing. She turned when one of the pirates called out, "More fun than the 'Tromper, boys! Let's have at 'er!" Kastiel grinned, shooting Torian a quick glance, long enough to see him rolling his shoulders as he prepared to launch himself at the suddenly angry crowd of pirates.

"Think we can blow some more wind their way?"

Torian grunted, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kastiel as the men rushed at them. Both Mandalorians activated their jetpacks just as the pirates came within striking distance, shooting up into the frigid air. The blast from their flight beat against the men in a single, heady burst of hot air, so that the crowd fell back. The pirates lost their balance, until they were left to flail and rail against the ground, sliding across the bloody, icy snow in frantic bundles of human and alien figures.

Kastiel landed easily against the surface, though. Torian was already moving, jumping from the crouched position he'd landed in, swinging his staff in an arch of terrible momentum against the skulls of one, then two of the pirates. He cried out a victorious cry as the men's brains and blood joined the gore that already stained the snow-covered ground. Kastiel's blaster bolts sang against the cool air suddenly, the cacophony of firepower rising against the wind-strewn air, and Torian shouted out yet again, "Oya!" He yelled as he leaped towards another one of the pirates, his electrostaff firing brightly against the snow.

They moved together, almost like they were dancing, fluidly sweeping back and forth across the blood-torn ice and snow. Until nothing moved, nothing more cried out. Just their own wild, harsh gasps of breath as they looked to each other. Kastiel smiled as Torian sidled closer to her, examining her carefully, "Well, Vause was right about their lack of balance, huh?" He grunted, glancing around at the now-pink ground they were standing on, idly reaching out to push one dead pirate over until he lay on his back, his blank human eyes staring up into the endlessly blue sky overhead.

There was a snuffle suddenly, a low, frightened sound barely heard. Kastiel kicked out a solid boot against the blood-smeared side of the dead Icetromper, listened as the Gamorrean pirate from earlier squealed madly, tumbling out from the gory remains of the hulking corpse where he'd been hiding. Kas grimaced as she took in the squat man's gore-saturated frame. "Gods, you stink. Worse than they do when the things are alive, mind you." She sneered down at the filthy Gamorrean. "Lowly Tusker, huh? What happened, did your morts all die from the cold?"

The young Gamorrean rolled around in the pinkish snow, smearing even more blood against the ground. He started to beg her, "Please! Please don't kill me! I'll go, leave Hoth, leave the system! Never ever ever come back! Swear!"

Kastiel rolled her eyes, impatient with the mess of a character at her feet. Torian only grumbled, kicking out against his flailing figure, "Move! Get away!" They watched the fat figure taking off like a scampering rodent of some sort, hunched over as if to evade their notice and still splattered with blood. Kas leaned against one curved hip as she watched him go.

"He's running straight into … well, what the hell's out there, do you think?"

Torian grunted. "Giant ice cats. Maybe Wampas. Good hunting. Follow the pig, and we might lure something out."

Kastiel considered. "Tempting. Lizards first, though."

"Too bad."

* * *

Khyriel glared at Kaliyo, unable to even pretend at a nicety right then. Perhaps he might be able to pull it off, if only his head didn't feel like there was a solid axe buried right smack dab in its center. "So I'm supposed to be concerned, that the Devaronian you fucked while I was crawling through shit on Quesh has followed you here to Hoth?"

"Come on, Khy! He was back on Taris, too! Crap, how else was I supposed to get close enough to him to figure out what the Hell he's up to?"

Khyriel snarled at her, "Yes, I'm positive you fucked him out of the goodness of your little heart. Oh, and fondness for me, as well. Can't forget that, now can we?"

Kaliyo gaped at him. "What the ever living fuck is wrong with you? Wait! I don't really give a shit! I hope the damn horned freak sticks more than his tongue up your ass. I'm out of here."

He watched her spin around on her stiff booted feet and literally march away. It was a vivid moment, if only because she was so utterly pissed she forgot, even, to pretend she wasn't effected by the confrontation. Definitely new, that. Normally, she was quick to sway her hips or shrug her shoulders like she didn't care in the least what it was he said or did. Not that there was much normal about the entire incident. He certainly didn't care, normally, whether she cared.

Khyriel turned away, groaning as new pain ripped through his head. He clenched his eyes shut, watching the colors swirling behind the closed lids of his eyes. "_She doesn't care, she never did_." He groaned again as the familiar voice drifted through his consciousness. He really was going mad, he could feel it, feel his sanity slipping away. Like sand sliding through an ancient hourglass. He whispered, "No one cares, not that I'm here, alone. Going mad in this frozen wasteland." A brief image of the little human who served the Chiss drifted through his wild imaginings. More craziness, he snorted.

"_You're wrong, agent. If there was no one who cared, you'd already be lost_."


	75. Chapter 74 -- It's Almost Time

It was like walking into a wall, he thought, as he stepped back from the belligerent man who'd just stood in front of him. The Imperial was probably as smart as one, too. The only thing he could think, though, as he leaned his head back to look up into the man's reddened features, was the way he'd loomed just like this over Kastiel, ages ago on Taris. As if his sheer size and bulk was enough to intimidate and agitate his opponent into quitting.

Perhaps that's how he normally defeated his enemies, though. With pure brute force. No real skill or technique worth boasting of, anyway. Just stupid head-bashing simplicity. Torian very nearly smiled at the thought. But he only stepped back from the soldier's bullish aggression, pointedly, dramatically ignoring him. There simply was no honor in matching the man's pigheadedness, he thought.

Pierce's eyes widened. "What the Hell. Does your backside match your yellow hair, then?"

Torian shrugged lightly, glancing briefly towards the door of the cantina where Kastiel would be emerging soon enough. "Only as much as your temperament matches your red face, Imperial. Here for a drink and a seat, not conversation."

Pierce clenched his fists tightly, glaring. "You didn't address her with the respect due a Sith."

Torian turned his golden-eyed gaze towards the youngish woman standing just behind the hulking frame of the soldier. Her eyes were gleaming hotly, almost yellow spots there in her face and filled with intense hunger at the sense of impending violence. His nostrils flared only lightly at the signs of imminent threat, as he considered her desire to see the two men fight, powerful enough she'd toss her soldier friend into the fray without thought or appreciation for the consequence. What a waste. He shook his head towards her, "My lord, yes? That is how I should have called you. Apologize if I misspoke."

She frowned at him, disconcerted at the ease the Mandalorian showed them both. Like he wasn't even bothered. Or concerned, maybe. Because he wasn't, she realized. He faced them with unruffled composure, in fact. He simply wasn't afraid. She sensed the truth, suddenly, that he was completely cool, not from fear but from confidence. He'd ruin Pierce, break him. And easily enough, too, and never mind Jaesa herself. He simply saw no real reason to. Not yet. He was waiting, rather. But for what?

Jaesa clicked her tongue, touching Pierce's elbow softly as she murmured a low sound. He glanced back towards her, confused. Then he turned ruddy again as a familiar voice winged through the air. The feeling that proceeded her, the ripple in the Force her presence brought to the confrontation, was heady enough that Jaesa actually turned wide, startled eyes towards the Mando woman standing just inside the cantina entranceway.

"No dead Rakghouls here, Lieutenant. Makes me wonder what the fuck you're up to this time around, mind you."

Pierce felt his jaw drop as he turned to confront Kastiel's armored frame. She stood just inside the door of the tiny, cold cantina, much as she had the last time he'd seen her, with her arms crossed lightly across her chestplate and her head canted to the side. He imagined she was probably grinning again, much like that damn Devaronian standing just behind her. Except that this time around, her face was obscured from his sight by a dark faceplate. The Devaronian was smiling wildly at him, though, looking like nothing so much as a wicked jester standing there, like a goon waiting to see him brought down a peg. Or two.

He ground his teeth together. "Maybe you should go back to lugging the things around back on Taris, huh? Just keep out of my way."

Kastiel murmured, "I got what I went to Taris for, though. Now I'm here on Hoth." She leaned forward, "And you're in _my_ way, if it's bothering _my_ people you make a habit of. Preen for your female elsewhere, Imperial."

Pierce glared at her. Especially when he noted Gault shaking his head in ironic amusement, standing there behind Kastiel. "You Mandalorians really do stick together, huh? Like little peas in a pod, wherever you go."

Gault couldn't help but laugh suddenly. He leaned over Kastiel's shoulder, whispering something against her ear. She barked a laugh, elbowing him back and away from her, shaking her head as she glanced back at him. "Stop it! I'm trying to be serious, here!"

Pierce was confused. Not a comfortable feeling for the soldier, at all. So he glared threateningly at the Devaronian. "Going to drop a dead thing at my feet again?"

Gault chuckled. "Good guess. They always seem to have me trucking the dead shit around here. Not sure if there's a joke attached to that, actually, what with my horns and forked tongue and all. But no." He grinned toothily towards the soldier. "Was only telling Kas, here, that Torian's got no little peas in there. I've seen him sans pants, anyway. You should be careful, soldier. He'll wipe the floor with you, given the chance. Don't think he's forgiven you for threatening her back on Taris, in fact." Pierce sputtered, looking towards Torian, who'd tensed when Pierce turned his aggression towards Kastiel.

Jaesa narrowed her eyes as she considered the confrontation, wholly, with all her senses blaring. The Mandwalorian warrior, his male determination focused entirely on the woman he considered his own, was dangerous enough. But her? She made Jaesa's Force senses flare wildly. Her will was a blazing force all its own, enough Jaesa felt suddenly certain she was only a thin line away from being Force sensitive herself. Mind tricks wouldn't work on her, would probably only serve to piss her off. Together with the warrior, she'd easily hold her ground, ruin the both of them. Possibly kill them, to boot.

Lord Lusiel would be pissed, Jaesa thought, disheartened. She grumbled loudly, "Pierce! I'm bored with this nonsense. I'm hungry, in fact." Pierce turned to look at her, staring. He heard her, heard the warning heavy in her tone. He grumbled an angry assent, shooting one last glare at Torian as he trundled after Jaesa's swaying backside.

Gault watched them go, and grunted, "This place is fucking crowded, Kas. Makes me wonder how you plan to get off this ice bucket of a world without one of your siblings figuring out they're siblings of yours."

Torian nodded. "Time's coming when we won't be able to keep it hidden anymore, _Cyare_." He knew the danger of it, what it was Kastiel feared. But she was so much stronger now, he thought. She wasn't a small child anymore, that she needed to be afraid the woman who'd tormented her childhood would reach out from the grave to destroy her again.

Kastiel sighed. "I know that. Still. If only I'd killed Karen's sister back when I beat her damn husband to death. But the fool woman wasn't at the estate that night."

"In your defense, Kas. You were just sixteen. Most sixteen year-old humans can barely manage to tidy their sleeping quarters, let alone properly plan out the execution of a child-abuser. Oh, and her weasel of a husband, too." Gault murmured a consoling sound as he patted Kastiel on the back.

Torian snorted. "You haven't known many Mandalorians."

The Devaronian laughed, drawing the attention of a few of the soldiers settled against nearby tables there in the cold confines of the tiny cantina. "Still shocks the shit out of me I even know two of them. Let alone that I actually like them. Mind-boggling." They settled around one of the back tables, leaning close as they huddled over cups of mulled liquors. Gault sniffed delicately against the steam rising from his cup, "Hmmm, sweet stuff. Not like that damn Rattataki, mind you. She stomped off and left your brother on his own last night. One pissed off female, let me tell you."

Torian frowned. "Is he vulnerable? In danger?"

Gault looked morose all of a sudden. He leaned even closer, staring hard at Kastiel. "It's bad, Kas. Personally, I don't know how it is he's still hanging on. I can see he's breaking, though. Can't understand how his own people don't see it. Or why they choose not to do anything about it, if they do."

Kastiel pursed her lips, her eyes taking on a flinty, hard-edged sheen. "X said that pale-skinned woman was a harpy. Truth now, Gault – she going to be a threat to him?"

He snorted. "I'd say she was always a threat. But her outburst last night was way over the top, hardly like her. She's emotionally invested in him, I think." Gault chuckled. "Figure your brother did that on purpose, mind you. Manipulative whelp, that one."

Torian smiled, "Bad as Gaibriel?"

The Devaronian shook his head, "Darker. And more dangerous for it, too. Gaib is a sweetheart compared to his brother."

Torian leaned back against the chair he was resting on, sighing, "Won't be much longer, now, Kas."

Kastiel took a deep swallow from her cup, sighing as the warm liquid slid down her throat. "We continue as we've done so far. Blizz says we should needle Vause into coming after us, a decent enough plan. You and me will go after a couple of targets to get his attention, Tor. Mako's keeping track of Gaib's motions here on-planet. And Gault will stick to Khyriel. Do whatever you've got to do, Gault." He nodded his horned head, wraggling a twisted sharp-toothed smile towards her. Kastiel glanced towards the doors where Pierce and Jaesa had disappeared, then. "And for goodness sakes, let's try to keep out of my sister's way. Last thing we need right now is a pissed-off confused-as-shit Sith coming to look for us."

Torian smiled wryly. "Could be worse. Could be a Jedi we're dealing with, here."

* * *

He was so intent on watching the utterly sweet curves of her buttocks as she walked in front of him, that it took him a single wild moment to realize she'd actually started sliding across the cold, wet ice on the ground in front of them. She lurched and skidded, her ebony black braids actually spinning against her shoulders. Only for a moment, though. Still made the muscles he was intently studying clench hard into yummy-looking and perfectly tight bundles he ached to smooth his hands across. Then she righted herself, murmuring a triumphant sound as she shot him an irrepressibly victorious grin.

He bit his lip, pulling against the merest edge of his mustache, just to keep from laughing out loud. Probably a wasted effort, since she was well aware of his amusement. The steady look she tossed him made that obvious enough. Then she suddenly stuck out her tongue, playfully teasing him. And that's when he gave up the fight, actually leaning his head back as he guffawed loudly.

She was calm as she stood there, considering him, with only the briefest of smiles touching her pretty pink lips. She never ceased to amaze him, the level of tranquility with which she met … well, everything. Like nothing truly affected her, moved her. He suddenly stopped laughing, so abrupt that she frowned, her small smile sliding away as she held her head to the side and watched him with curiosity. "What's wrong, Doc?"

He tweaked his mustache, running one pointed finger along its edge so that it lay against his lip in a neat line once again. He sighed. "Heard stories that Jedi have no feelings, none at all. Like they simply purge them, or something. I was only wondering at the truth of it all of a sudden. That's all." He eyed her, like she was a specimen of some sort there in whatever petrie dish he was bent over in the Med Bay. She shook her head.

"No emotion where there is peace. It's a matter of acceptance, an appreciation for one's feelings to the extent they do not control or dictate the course."

He studied her clinically, with narrowed eyes. Her features remained as serene as they always were, her eyes dark and velvety, beautiful. Those eyes of her were amazing. Deep, dark pools of goodness, sultry even though he knew very well she wasn't trying for that effect. He could melt into her gaze, he thought. Again. What the hell was it about this female, that she could move him so deeply without even seeming to try? "Is it an acceptance, really? Or a denial?"

"A common misconception. I don't _deny_ my feelings. They're real enough." She tucked one of the loose braids of her hair back behind her ear. A sweet habit he enjoyed watching, her tendency to play with those twisted braids of hers.

"I disagree, Jedi. I think you hide from your feelings, there in your head. It's why you forgot everything all those years ago. Because your feelings are just that overwhelming."

She stepped back, frowning hard suddenly. "Rediscovering my memories is an effort I thought we were making aboard ship. Not … here."

He nodded, easing his hand up against her shoulder, until it rested softly there, just above her collarbone. An anchor, a touch she used to ground herself in the here and now, rather than the sometimes harsh journey she was making with him, now, in more recent days. He was her guide, her safety point. He knew she clung to him as she rediscovered herself, delighted in it even as it scared the ever-living crap out of him at the same time. Damn her for wiggling her cute little way right into that part of himself he'd always thought no woman could reach.

He sighed, then, "Just understand _yourself_, Jedi. That's all."

She looked away, gazing out towards the terribly blue sky in the bare wilderness in front of the garrison. She wondered if Hoth was really so huge as it seemed, so barren and empty. Or if it only seemed so, only because it was so blank and white. Was it merely a harsh illusion? Or was there some hidden nuance to the place, secrets hidden beneath that pale, white expanse? "Something's out there, something … frightening. I can feel it, like a promise."

He held his hand against her shoulder. Just touched her, was all. She eased into the assurety of his presence, sighing softly. "I'll be right there with you, Cam. Okay? You're not alone, here."


	76. Chapter 75 -- Sliding Across Hoth

He raised his gaze up towards the blue expanse of sky overhead, sighing. The horizon was marked with a morbid gray line, as a series of clouds formed together in the distance, the promise of a storm coming. Slam ground his teeth together, remembering the last icestorm that he'd watch rip along the snow-strewn landscape, the way it had clawed and chewed up everything in its way. Yet another sign of the sheer vitality of Hoth, that convinced him the place was a determined thing. Hoth wasn't the dead thing everyone assumed; there was energy, here. A blazing inferno of a thing, and he refused to believe any different, no matter how many frozen popsicles of men's remains they came across as they poked and prodded through the derelict crafts left behind after the battle from the last war. Rather, it was just hungry, this planet. It gobbled up the lives of anyone who stepped foot, here, is all.

The wind rose up wildly all of a sudden, smacking solidly against his frame until he swayed, there in place. He felt his breath catch, as the ends of his coat flared up, snapping against the backs of his thighs. He coughed, trying to regain his balance, his hands held up waist-high as he stood there. He yanked against the edges of his coat's collar, easing it up along the wettened back of his neck, ignoring the melting snow that slid wetly down along his sodden back. Wasn't like he could claim any sort of reasonable protection from the cold, here. The White Maw didn't provide any real care for the men they used to gather resources on the planet, he snorted. And then the surface under his feet shifted, jerked so that it all went to Hell in a handbasket.

He yelped suddenly, as the surface he was walking across shifted in some wicked jerk of motion. Probably the wind, hitting the sides of shattered craft, until it wobbled there against the hard, scrabbled ground. But it worked to upset Slam's own precarious perch on top of it, all the same. He cried out wildly as his feet came out from under him and he took to sliding, sliding fast, down along the curved edge of the ship, snow flying out on either side of his course. Like he was one of those obscene blades he'd seen Aroya use on a small rodent, once, so that it's furred flesh just flayed wide in the blade's path. At least there was no blood lost in this mad dash of a slide.

He screamed shrilly, just once. Then he reached out, his arms flaying, as he caught against a single, slender pipe reaching up into the air. He grabbed the thing, hard, and felt himself jarred as he jerked to a sudden, terrible and painful stop. He gulped, hanging onto the pipe in sheer terror, his legs dangling in midair. He slowly eased his eyes open, staring out from behind his goggles as he considered his new and dangerous position.

Slam's lower half was hanging over the jagged side of a drop into the inner depths of the small starship. After searching for hours for some way inside the damn thing, to find it, here, was like an awful slap in the face. Slam was shocked, disjointed. And pissed. He sneered up at the sky, "That damn determined to take me down, huh? Give me a glimpse of what I'm looking for, as ya use it to do me in. Figures. Frackin' shit of a world." He grunted, looking towards the slim pipe with worried eyes as he tried determining the best way to get his ass back up and over the side into some small semblance of secured footing. He could hear the dripping of melting snow down into the interior of the ship, the plop, plop of moisture down inside. Slam hoped his own frame would _not _make its own loud plop down into the darkness below, actually.

Then he heard something else, the clanking sound of boots hitting against the metallic curves of the ship nearby. He sucked in another frozen breath, trying to look around the white piles of snow that obscured his sight, piled all around the damn hole he was hanging half inside of, trying to see who was moving nearby. Slam thought fast. His own men weren't close, not by a long shot. He'd been scouting, had whooped when he came across the small craft, there on the fringes of the Graveyard. He'd thought it a boon, a strange bit of luck after a truly crappy series of bad turns. He'd known the chances of hiding it for long from Aroya - with his droids programmed so carefully for just such occurrences - was slim as watered down crap. But he'd still hoped for one or two small prizes from the ship's depths, too, and be better at hiding them than those Salvagers that came before him, perhaps.

Of course, exploring the thing on his own also left him to his own devices when it came to problems like this one. He'd certainly not be the first Salvager in the Maw who's life disappeared amidst the ragged chances of finding pitiful wealth in the Graveyard's many tombs. Because tombs is what the damn ships that had crashed to the surface during that years-ago battle really were, and Slam had yanked enough old devices and metals from the frozen fingers of the dead crew the ships carried into the icy ground to know it for certain.

Which begged the question. Who the Hell was poking around nearby, who was coming closer to Slam with every hard, distinct step? Slam held his breath, watching carefully, his head craning back and forth as he tried catching sight of ... whoever it was, that is. He was watching so hard that the sound of the man's voice actually startled him, enough he wheezed out a huff as he tightened his gloved fingers around the slender pipe providing the only hold keeping him from disappearing through the deep, dark hole. Didn't help the fellow sounded so damn calm, either, like he didn't even care if Slam disappeared into the dark under him. Slam scowled, looking towards the speaker when he said, "A rope, or a cable would've been helpful. Should have had one on hand when you climbed up here."

"Well, fuck me. Because it's so damn easy to get supplies round here, right?"

Slam saw his boots, first. Plated armored things, the boots moved into his line of sight in a smooth and easy glide of motion. He didn't imagine this was a man who struggled with his balance, actually. Not ever. "Easy enough. Only need to make sure you're teamed up with the right people. Choose wrongly, and you pay the price. Sometimes with your life. Looks like a lesson you're in the process of learning, hmm?"

Slam watched the man kneel down, until he was looking him in the face. He gasped as the man's helmeted visage came into his view, "Mandalorian? Fuck!"

He sensed the man's sudden amusement. But he sounded calm as he replied, "Could leave you here. Your choice."

"Erhm ... Nah, no thanks. Leastways, not like this. Something wrong with dying all by myself, I think. Specially don't want to die here on Hoth. Gods, hate this place." He murmured, glancing down towards his dangling legs and the darkness below them only briefly. The man grunted, reaching out with one arm, gloved fingers reaching out for him. Slam sighed as he grasped the proffered limb, felt the man's determined strength pulling and yanking him back up and onto the cold, frozen surface of the ship. He grumbled, "Take it you have a rope. If ya came up here, I mean."

He could almost feel the man smiling at him. "My team's better, yes. Here." He yanked Slam again, pulling on his arm in a cruel twist until he was pressed up against his side. Then he was sailing through the air, as the flare of the man's jetpack turned the snow around them a bright yellow-orange of color. He yelled loudly, grabbing on the man's shoulder in sheer panic as they landed there on the ground. He stumbled, scowling when the Mandalorian loosed him even before he was steady on his feet so that he just about tumbled down onto the ground.

"Hey! No need to drop me on my damn ass!" He started to punch against the Mandalorian's shoulder, but another voice intruded, a low feminine-sounding voice that surprised him. He spun around to face the newcomer. Another Mandalorian. But curvy. He gaped at the shape of her breasts, sweet enough even with the armor that covered them in strongly hard iron. He frowned, thinking it had been too long a time since he'd set eyes on a woman, if a woman who's face was hidden from him behind a dark faceplate still managed to excite the ever-living crap out of him. Or maybe it was precisely because he couldn't see her face. Just oodles of sweetly carved female flesh, ripe for the taking. Except then the warrior edged alongside the woman, standing nearby her, as if laying claim.

Well, dammit to every Corellian Hell there was, Slam snorted to himself. He just couldn't get a break for nothing.

"And here we were curious why you were screaming so much. Torian could put you back up there, maybe." She didn't try and hide her amusement, either. Her tone dripped with it. She even chuckled there at the end. More damn luck, to find a woman he thought deliciously shaped, and she laughed at him. There were worlds he wished would blow up. Hoth was at the top of that list, he decided.

"No thanks. I'll keep my feet on the ground for now. Won't be long before Aroya sends me back in there, anyway. He isn't keen on losing out on a prize, not enough to worry much about my sorry hide, anyway. Now, if I were some fancy-assed droid that'd be different. But no. Just plain 'ole human, that's me," he laughed morosely. The longer he spent in the company of the Gran who'd actually labeled himself like he was, himself, some damn droid the more certain Slam was this planet would earn him a frozen grave. Right alongside the corpses he helped steal from, to boot. He looked at the woman, frowning as he noted her suddenly stiff, ready stance. "Uhh ... what are you doing out here, anyway?"

"Hunting." She looked past him, towards the man still standing behind him, nodding, and Slam suddenly felt defensive. Like he was the one being hunted. And found, now that he thought on it. Damn it! He raised his hands up.

"Look, I'm just a low-down Salvager. Got nothing worth taking or fighting over, believe me."

"You've got Blizz' things, if it's Aroya-9 you're working for out here."

"Blizz?" Slam felt the cheer rising up in him, the feeling that something, at last, had actually gone right in recent days. "Glad to hear he's doing well enough to send a couple of toughies out hunting for his stuff. Wasn't right, what was done to 'im. Tried speaking up for 'im, but only managed to get him snuck out and turned in to those blue bastards. Better than having him strung up by one of the boss' thugs. Still hated it," he mumbled in a stream of sorrowful words.

"Yea, well, I don't think Blizz was real happy about it, either. The Chiss haven't killed him yet. But that's only because he has some small uses, still." She leaned back on the heels of her boots, crossing her arms across her chest as she snarled at him.

"You're kidding, right? They're still hunting for the boss?" Slam shook his head. "Remind me not to get on the bad side of those blue freaks."

The man she'd called Torian leaned closer. "I think you're already on their bad side. Anyone who calls Vause 'boss' isn't someone they're considering a friend, anyway."

Slam nodded. "'Magine Blizz' uses are better than mine, too. He was always able to do spiffy shit with the things we found in the Graveyard. Tried telling the boss that, that nothing Blizz hung onto was worth the special skills he offered us, just in putting things back together again, crap. But no one was listenin' to me." He leaned closer, "It's why I've been so careful about poking around in places by myself, mind ya. That, and it sucks to fall into deep pits." Slam considered them carefully. "So you're out here to get Blizz' stuff? Most of it was parceled out among the other Salvagers, actually."

"Yea. Imagine that's why he was made out to be a thief, before being beaten and attacked out of hand," she hummed. Slam felt a sense of unease skittering through him, a certainty that retrieving the pitifully brief belongings of a tiny Jawa was only barely the reason this woman had traveled out into the cold environment of Hoth. What sort of Mandalorians would do such a thing, would take the time to defend such a poor excuse of a creature as Blizz? Not that he didn't miss the little bugger, either. Maybe they just liked Blizz that much. He studied them carefully, the two Mandalorian warriors. Hunting, they said.

Slam huffed out a sigh, looking back towards the derelict starship protruding through the frozen ground. He should've known, he supposed. "Did Blizz ... just tell me if Blizz asked you to kill me? Not that I'd blame 'im, mind you. But it would be a huge buzz-kill to know I died because someone I really liked was that pissed at me."

The woman cocked her head to the side, so that the briefest sunlight glinted off the dark faceplate of hers, reflecting back at him from the icy snow-covered ground all around them. "You're called Slam Streever, aren't you?" Slam nodded, waiting for the killing blow, watching the way the Mando woman crossed her arms across her chest as she chuckled. "Then, no. Blizz didn't ask me to hurt you, called you a friend, even. Which might be worse, as I see it. Because I figure it really bothered the crap out of him that you were one of the men who scared and hurt him. And that, honestly, really ticks at my temper. Still ..." She stiffened again, standing straight up as she leaned closer to Slam. He actually found himself leaning backwards, in fact. "There are a couple of you that won't be walking out from this in one piece. Now where are the bastard pirates called Aroya-v9 and Gradak Ungan? I'm looking to meet them."

Torian smiled behind his helmet, watching the Salvager called Slam gulp with uneasiness under the blistering intensity of Kastiel's raging defense of what many would label an insignificant Jawa. He began mentally calculating the space that Jawa would take up on the "Bad Boy" when they left Hoth behind.


	77. Chapter 76 -- Didnt see that one coming

"Storm's coming." Torian frowned worriedly at the dark clouds gathering over the snow-covered crags nearby. Kastiel stopped what she was doing to glance over in the same direction. With her attention diverted, her fingers slipped against the side of Torian's thigh, so that her fingers actually bumped against the tender edges of the kolto-packed laceration she'd just finished covering there.

Torian sucked in a heavy breath as pain rippled through his leg. Kastiel mumbled unhappily, looking up at him from her kneeling position. He actually grunted an amused sound, watching her, "Pain's worth it, just to see you on your knees in front of me like that."

"Now there's a thought." She focused her gaze on the armored plates covering his abdomen and groin. She smiled as she reached around his leg to snap his leg armor plates back into place, subtly rubbing against the tender flesh along the back of his thigh. He hissed around his sudden, ready arousal and she chuckled, looking back up at him. "Can't be exposing such precious parts of you to the cold, though. Would be a shame if it froze right off."

"That would be troublesome, yea." He reached out to place his fingers just under the edge of her helmet's chin, breathing softly as he touched her. Just a steady touch, that conved his heavy presence, assured her of his desire, his appreciation. The gesture was theirs, a steady and serious promise. Of belonging and of intention. Kastiel sighed in soft reply, even as he reassured her. "Twinge, is all. Kolto's working fast. Fixed me up good, Kas."

Kastiel raised herself up, standing to pack the medical gear back into place in the rear of her Orlean. He grunted, watching her lean over the speeder so that her rear end curved deliciously high up in the air. Impossible to miss, he thought. Few sights managed to please him more. She glanced at him over her shoulder, "Let's make it a point to avoid the blades of crazy-assed pirates, okay? Watching you bleed pisses me off."

His lips curled into a small grin, as he finished clearing the specks of blood from the end of his electrostaff. He tucked the blade he was using back into the customary sheathe that ran along his forearm. "Figured that's why you made that Gundak Ungan fellow take a header off the ledge into the lava bath. He squealed a lot, though. Annoyed me."

"At least he didn't last long enough to squeal too much."

That's when the ground trembled under their feet. Torian jerked his head up, scanning northwards towards the site of several Imperial artillery emplacements. They'd traversed the area several hours earlier, heading towards the site of the White Maw smelting operation. The soldiers at the site had waved at them as they passed, even. Kastiel stepped closer, now, standing alongside Torian as billows of smoke extended into the air in the distance.

"Well. There's another piece of bad luck. Was hoping to shelter with that troop through the storm. Not sure we'll be able to make it all the way to the outpost from here, not in time, anyway. May have to use one of those tiny emergency shelters, dammit." Kastiel grumbled unhappily as she watched the inky black smoke inch its way across the sky, thinking of the miniscule boxes that passed for shelters interspersed throughout the terrain, all of them manned by a single droid and a measly pair of turrets. She glanced at Torian. He was still tense next to her, as he continued scanning the terrain.

"Didn't note any Republic troop movements, though."

Kas frowned, thinking. "Enough troops, there, that taking out the artillery would've required a sizeable force."

"Or a small, highly skilled team."

Kastiel turned her attention south, pointing, "The closest Republic outpost lies almost four kilometers straight south from there. Probably why they wanted the artillery taken out, by the way. But that means …" The hum of approaching speeders sounded.

"Whoever did it will be headed in this direction." Torian yanked his staff up, lifting his chin in the direction of the encroaching threat. Kastiel nodded as she stepped in front of him, smoothly lifting her blasters from their holders along her hips. Their positions were comfortable, easy in their familiarity. Both of them settled back onto the balls of their booted feet, prepared to move and move fast. But the swirls of snow that preceded the encroaching group actually obscured their sight for several long, tense moments. Except for the heat signatures of those coming at them, of course. Kastiel hummed as Torian remarked to her, using soft expressions of _mando'a_, "Only two, Kas. Just two able to take on an entire troop of Imperial soldiers? Careful, _cyare_."

The Republic team had lurched to a stop there in front of the Mandalorians. The snow slowly dissipated, while a series of loud masculine curses filled the air. Kastiel smiled as she listened to the Republic-accented Basic. "Come on! Why couldn't anything just be easy for once? Seriously! Can't even blow up some Imps without a great big hassle."

"I hardly see this as any sort of hassle, Doc. We're stopped, rather."

"Stopped, when we're busy running from a whole slew of pissed off Imps is a hassle, Jedi."

Torian moved slowly, running several scenarios through his diagnostic screen behind the faceplate of his helmet as he maneuvered into a defensive position just behind Kastiel. She murmured softly, "It's always a Jedi that wants to be our headache, huh?" He shrugged lightly, breathing back to her, "Almost like they have some kind of plan for it."

Kastiel shook her head ruefully as she lifted her helmeted visage towards the man and woman climbing off their speeders to face them. Thick jackets and scarves covered their frames. But Kas could still tell they were human enough. What with the lower halves of their faces left bare, anyway. She could see the furred whiskers of the man's black mustache twitching as he stepped carefully alongside the female, at least. The woman's skin was pale, unblemished and soft-looking, with her lips set into a very calm, relatively serene expression as she stood there. Several tendrils of black hair extended out from under the edges of headpiece she was wearing. But Kastiel couldn't discern anything of her eyes, blocked as they were behind a darkly tinted faceplate.

The man grumbled wonderingly as he examined them, "They look like Mandalorians, Jedi. Although that's the curviest-looking Mando I've ever seen, I do believe. Didn't know they could make that armor into such sweet shapes."

The woman sighed as she glanced over at him, "Do you imagine her curves would make it less likely she'd attack you, Doc?"

Kastiel smirked at her, "Wager he knows better than that, actually." She gestured towards the smoke-filled sky behind the pair. "You guys fucking destroyed our shelter for the night. I'm not particularly happy with you at the moment." Torian shifted, hefting his staff close against his side as he growled low under his breath.

The dark-haired man chuckled at them, "You guys did notice my friend, here, is a Jedi, right?"

Kastiel shrugged, unconcernedly. "Faced Jedi before. And won." She leaned forward slightly, smiling at the man as his mustache squirmed with bemusement. "I don't think the Jedi Order really likes me, actually."

The woman frowned at her for the first time. "You've destroyed Jedi?"

"A few." Kastiel tapped the ends of her blasters against her belt, listening to the soothing rhythm for several moments. She watched the Jedi woman raise a small, slender palm and wave it subtly. The gesture was familiar enough she nearly laughed. Mandalore had described Jedi mind-tricks to her, gesturing angrily as they discussed her confrontation with Kellian Jarro, "_They use their Force to manipulate and coerce a warrior's ability to make an honorable choice. Don't get me wrong, either. The Sith can do the same. But at least they're honest enough about it. The Jedi will call themselves noble, even as they perform such degrading acts. They lie, in fact_."

"You don't want to oppose us. You want to let us pass."

Kastiel just stood there, smirking at them from behind her helmet. "Yea. The one on board the Aurora tried that. How'd he put it again? Oh, right. Said I had ' too strong a will'. Was Tarro who was done in by that little trick. Not me."

Torian grunted loudly, "Tarro Blood had no ounce of honor and died like the dog he was."

The Jedi breathed out slowly. If Kastiel could put a name to her expression now, it was probably contemplative. "You're the bounty hunter who killed Master Jarro." Kas shrugged, not feeling the statement warranted a verbal response. The woman looked pained for only a moment, although Kas didn't think it was from real sorrow, except as a general sense. She'd been no real close friend of that Jedi, to Jarro. Probably only heard of the incident, some story of the event. She nearly laughed as she imagined the Jedi sitting around a table, sipping wine perhaps, as they all discussed her. She leaned slightly towards Torian as she said, "Not sure how spiffy it really is, that I'm famous among the Jedi, too."

Torian grumbled, "Would explain that old Jedi, back on Quesh, at least."

"Yep, exactly." The mustached fellow stepped forward, suddenly. Until he stood very nearly beside the Jedi. He was grinning widely towards Kastiel, a cajoling sort of smile. _The man's trying to cozen me_, she thought. How cute.

"You know. I'd really appreciate the chance to see your pretty face. I'd lay down real money it's pretty, anyway. You should take off that helmet, let your hair hang loose. We could settle back in the cantina nearby and talk all about your adventures. What do you say?" The man's voice was dripping with seductive humor. Kastiel couldn't help but laugh at him.

"You remind me of my brother ... what did she call you? Doc? You a healer?"

Doc glanced sideways, only briefly, noting the Jedi's subtle wiggle of her chin. "Been known to heal a time or two, yes. Why, do you require my services? Sweetheart, I'd be ever so glad to service you. Trust me."

Torian snorted, "Let me lop off his face hair, Kas. So it stops wiggling so much."

The dark-haired man laughed aloud, seemingly delighted. "See? I knew I was right, that looking at you outside all that armor was worthwhile. Ah, if only …"

"Doc, I am fast coming to believe your ability to make friends is seriously constrained. It's a skill, negotiation. You should work to improve yours." The Jedi patted her companion's forearm with gentle patience. If Kastiel had to guess, it wasn't the first time they'd had this particular level of discourse. She smirked at the mustached doctor, realizing his flirtation was little more than a needling against the sensibilities and attractiveness of his little Jedi. She mumbled to Torian, "He wants _her_, actually. Thinks to use me to make her jealous. Adorable, really."

Torian shook his head. "Don't like him." Kastiel shrugged. She was more amused, actually. Seemed the doctor's efforts to create jealous possessiveness had worked pretty well, although not in the proper target. She briefly imagined the delicious advantage of her Mando reasserting his possession of her, shivering delicately with arousal. Later, of course. Perhaps she owed the doctor, for providing such an incentive. She looked at him, watching him guffaw a frustrated sigh.

"You're the only woman I know who's ever said I can't make friends, Camiel. It's truly mind-boggling. I have friends everywhere, for crying out loud!" Doc rolled his eyes in supposed vexation.

"They are not friends, Doc. Not really. How many of them would truly stop to support you past their own benefit, mind you?" The Jedi turned back to the bounty hunter, thinking to divert her attention from stopping their mad dash across the snow. Perhaps she could appeal to what she sensed was the woman's innate humor, which was obvious enough. But she realized quickly the hunter was stunned, shocked as she stood there.

Camiel breathed in slowly as she considered the bounty hunter through the Force – surprise, anxiety, anticipation. Fear, even. Like hearing her gasp out loud, maybe. The feeling was so heady, so strong that it almost seemed to be screaming out to her.

Kastiel stepped forward. Only once, before she stopped and reconsidered. She took a deep breath, gathering herself. Torian was stiff and tense next to her, sensing her disquiet, the strength of her response. But she could only gasp past her suddenly dry lips, begging for the answer as she looked back at the Jedi, "Camiel? Are you Gaibriel's Camiel?" She watched the Jedi, watched her stumble backwards.

Because the question struck against Camiel like the hunter had tossed a strong rock at her, hit her square in the middle of the face. She felt her skin flush red, as shock and fear rippled through her, "How do you know that name? I can't …" She looked towards Doc, floundering. He recognized it, jumped to grasp her firmly and yank her close. He snarled at her, "Focus on me, Cam! I'm right here!"

Kastiel was confused. Her gaze darted between the pair, frustration pulling at her. "It _is_ you! What's wrong, what's happened?" Torian grunted, moving suddenly to stand close, his shoulder pressing into Kastiel's shoulder blade, calming her with the reminder of his presence, his touch. She nodded towards him gratefully.

The Jedi breathed in hard, her gaze turning determinedly towards Kastiel. "How do you know that name? I wasn't sure it referred to a real person, even!"

"What? But …" Kastiel shook her head, confused, angry. "Gaib's your twin, Camiel! What the fuck do you mean, you don't know he's real? What's wrong with you?"

"Twin?" Camiel's eyes went stark behind her faceguard, as the truth of it sank into her. She knew it was true, knew it! She breathed slowly, methodically working through a small, brief meditative exercise. She mumbled so softly Kas almost didn't hear, "I can't remember." And Kastiel gasped.

There'd been a man in Tobie's clinic, once. He'd had the singular misfortune to slosh a bit of mud across the boots of a young Sith lordling visiting the work fields earlier in the day. The Sith had proceeded to levitate the poor fellow, tossing him willy-nilly through the mud and grit, easily and willfully flaying him against the roughest surfaces he could find. When they finally brought the pathetically broken man to Tobie, his mind had broken under the strain, until he lay gibbering on the table as Tobie worked to repair the damage. He'd seemed to recover eventually, becoming sensible over the days that followed. But he literally forgot everything that happened there in that field, too.

Tobie explained to her, later on, "_We can fix their broken bones and flesh easily enough. That's simple, because you can see it, can see where it's torn and shattered. But wounds to the mind? Most patients will protect their own minds, creating barriers and self-defense mechanisms that block out the worst damage. Damage is bad enough, the barrier's even tougher. If they don't, they break. Those are the ones like Karen. They're mad, Kas. No fixing that._"

What the hell wounded her sister, inflicted such damage, that she'd forgotten them so totally? Kas dropped her gaze, looking at the ground. She'd failed her. The memory whipped through her, the man laughing as he held her up, his grip stunningly hard against her throat. Running through the rain-filled morning, trying to beat them to the spaceport. Standing there in the market, looking at Lusiel as her father's wife cried out angrily against her. And then the worst of it – of Gaibriel, telling her what had happened to him, been done to him after, his brilliant blue eyes looking almost dead white in his face as he spoke.

Kastiel whimpered, blinking rapidly as she tried not to break down into tears. Torian shifted alongside her, murmuring something. She whispered to him, "My fault." Torian shook his head, reaching out as if to grab her, shake her. But he jumped at her instead when the whistle of a missile suddenly filled the air, yelling, "Down!"

He stood strongly, curling himself over Kastiel's back as the rocket that fired in their direction impacted hard against the nearby outcropping of snow and ice. Shards of ice flew in all directions, pinging in a steady rain against his armor. Clods of dirt followed, landing in dark patches against the snow. He looked, watching as the Jedi flung up a force barrier against the impact, protecting herself and her man in one single swoop. He heard Kastiel loose a single groan from there beneath him, looked down, prepared to bark something – tell her to move, get out of the way, something – but then he saw the splash of bright red against the white snow. And his entire mind went white and blank, as he focused solely on her, on getting her safe and secure.

Torian jerked his gaze back up, glaring towards the Jedi. The slight-looking woman was saying something, shouting towards her doctor friend. But she stopped long enough to look back towards them, too. She frowned, staring for a single long moment. Torian shook his head, gesturing angrily, snarling towards her, "Get out of here! Go!" Doc was pulling at Camiel's arm, yelling at her to follow him, to run. Torian turned away, reaching down, rather, for his hunter.

He yanked her close, watched as her head lolled back against the grip of his arm under her shoulders. He muttered a command into the diagnostics behind his helmet, listened to the computer starkly outlining the problem. "Subject suffering thirteen percent blood loss, penetration injury to left abdomen, kidney punctured, interior bleeding. Armor's environmental protection compromised. Advise rapid evacuation and medical intervention. Blood loss increased to thenty-two percent." Torian grunted as he tumbled Kastiel frontways across his thighs, finding the neat, round hole against her lower back quickly. He filled it, rapidly, packing a kolto-bandage over her skin before quickly covering the exposed surface of her armor with a fibrous patch. He sighed as the computer intoned, "Blood loss slowed. Environmental protections remain negligible."

Torian looked up. The Jedi and her medic were gone, but the sound of shouts coming from the approaching squad of Imperial soldiers was beginning to offend him. He climbed to his feet, clutching his precious burden as he hurried towards their nearby speeders. He glared at the lieutenant who tried barking at him about leaving, "Work on your aim. Maybe someday you can actually hit your targets, rather than the Mandoes trying to stop them. Till then, keep out of our way." He turned his back to the gaping fool of an officer, then, ignoring the squad utterly as he lifted Kastiel onto the rear of the speeder and tucked her gently into place. He piled some of the loose furs yanked from their more recent confrontations with the local wildlife around her, striving to keep her warm despite her armor plating being damaged.

Only then did he open a commlink to Mako. The cyborg's holoimage blinked into place in front of him just as he was securing Kastiel's speeder to his own, intent on hauling it behind him as they moved. "Torian? Shit! What's going on?"

"Mako, give me the coordinates of the nearest emergency shelter. Something with a medical droid in place." He glanced skyward again. "And hurry. Storm's about to hit."


	78. Chapter 77 -- A Healing

The howling gales of wind against the sides of their tiny shelter managed to produce shudders enough, that Kastiel woke up just enough to blink wearily into the dim light of the small space. A thin-framed medical droid was steadily monitoring the holodisplay over the bed where she lay, clicking softly at the blinking lights on the screen. It chirped softly at her as her awareness became obvious, leaning down to examine the kolto-infused bandage adhered to her back. She barely flinched as it probed the slightly sore spot, realized the healing was well-progressed in the hours since she was injured.

Shrapnel, maybe, she thought. Or a rock. Ice? Whatever-it-was most likely hit against the lower edge of her armor, probably slipped just past the thin line that divided the back of her chestpiece from the plates that protected her groin and waist. Figures that some absurd bit of material would knock her straight on her ass, and past her armor, too. She slowly scanned the interior of the shelter, looking for her set, hoping the damage to the armor wasn't overly serious. Hoth was hell on getting re-fitted. But she could see Torian had already crafted a sturdy patch to repair the brief tear into the edge of her armor. And that would figure, too. Her Mando was always quick to keep their gear in the best shape possible.

She sighed softly, snuggling closer against Torian's bare torso, listening to the steady thump of his heart against the implants in her ear. Their legs were tangled together underneath the blankets that covered them, too, and she breathed in steadily as she felt his heavy erection pressing against the soft folds between her legs. His arms were wrapped firmly around her, well above the wound against her lower back, and his chin rested so softly along the top of her head. She felt cocooned in the warmest security, and never mind her nakedness nor the terrible screams of the wind outside. Hell, her back didn't even pain her as she just lay there, basking in the comfort she didn't really feel she deserved.

"Should sleep, Kas," Torian's rumbled voice vibrated his chest alongside her face. She reached out to lick gently against the muscles there, smiling lightly as he sucked in a heavy breath. His cock jerked against her, causing a burst of moisture to come from her as her own arousal sparked. She moaned softly. Torian leaned his head around, nuzzling her temple in slow, simple motions, running the fingers of one hand in a single gliding trail along the length of her spine until he heard her moans turning to panting groans, "Then again ..." He murmured some more incomprehensible sounds, just the briefest grunts, as he encouraged her rising desire, using the palm of his hand against her tailbone to press her closer against him, rocking into her with slow, steady beats of his hips.

The droid suddenly intoned, loud in the miniscule confines of the shelter, "Sexual activity will increase body temperature and accelerate the healing process in the female human. Such intercourse is advisable. Please continue."

Kastiel smiled, leaning her head back to look up at Torian. He was staring stonily across the tiny space towards the droid, and she couldn't help it. She laughed, biting her lip only after he turned his gaze back to her. She nodded with pretended solemnity, "My health is very important, Tor. You'd better do as it says." He blinked, his lips twitching with slow amusement. He reached down, running the palm of his hand along the length of her thigh so he could grasp her behind her knee. He tickled her there, gently, watching her eyes glimmer with laughter. Then he pulled her limb higher, curling her leg until her knee rested on top of his own thigh and her groin was completely exposed to him.

Torian glanced at the droid again, even as the sound of Kastiel's panting whimpers huffed against the lower half of his face and she licked, again, against his flesh there, wiggling her tongue along the length of facial hair that striped his chin. "Droid, stop monitoring the female. Deactivate, until ordered otherwise." He didn't even watch as the machine slowly quieted until the glowing lights of its eyes went dark. He just reached out to touch Kastiel, gently, along her scarred jaw, watched instead the way she melted into his touch, leaning her face softly against his fingers, and he smiled. "You're really beautiful, you know that." He could see the doubt in her eyes, even though she didn't say anything. He leaned closer, running his tongue in a smooth swipe along the seam of her lips, until she gasped. Then he swept inside, tangling his tongue with hers, and feasted, groaning into her mouth for several long, sweet moments.

Torian rolled them both over, so that he lay under Kastiel, balancing her against his upthrust thighs, her legs straddling his hips heatedly as he sat up, leaning back against the wall of the shelter up towards the head of the narrow bed. She gasped, nearly falling into him as she pressed herself forward, until the hard points of her breasts burned against Torian's chest. He arched his back, pushing her far enough away that he was able to lean over and open his mouth against her breast, yank the nipple into his mouth. The sounds of his suckling thrilled her. She threw her head back, gripping the hair against the back of his head, holding him against her as he sucked her deep into his mouth.

He released the sweet berry of her nipple. He reared back again, looking at her as he grabbed against her thighs to pull her tighter against him, rolling his hips steadily under the smooth curves of her rear. She moaned his name, laying the palms of both her hands flat against the taught muscles of his abdomen while he softly chanted to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how hot, how much he wanted her. She flushed brightly, looking back at him, stunningly aroused, dazedly wondering what he saw when he looked at her. She tried leaning down, as if to bury her face into the curve of his throat. But he hissed at her, "Look at me, Kas. I love to watch you, to see you. Don't hide your face from me."

So she straightened, firmly enough he murmured a warning about the wounding to her back, softly running his fingers against the skin there. Then he moaned, as Kastiel placed both her hands against the sides of his face, holding him, touching him, while her gaze focused, centered on his. They were watching each other intently, as Torian lifted Kas just enough, so that the head of his erection just gently broached her opening. He froze there, soaking just inside her, enjoying that brief moment when he knew Kastiel was accepting him so utterly, was letting him come so close to her that he could feel her heartbeat through the pulse of her blood in the muscles that gripped his most tender flesh.

"Love you, Torian," Kastiel gasped. He smiled, and then he dropped her easily, letting gravity slide her down onto him. She bucked her hips once he was all the way inside but he frowned at her, holding her strongly against the upper curve of her thighs so that she couldn't move. She sighed, "Only one I know who worries about my ability to get the job done." He grinned, flexing his cock easily there inside of her, so that she mewled his name helplessly.

He murmured to her, "Sometimes interfere in my own job." He began a steady rhythmic bucking of his hips, reaching up into her. "Sweetest work ever, pleasing you, making sure there's nothing but pleasure, nothing that hurts. A healing, Kastiel." She bit her lip, knowing he didn't mean her sore back right then. He held her hips gently, not smiling as he held her firmly in place while he moved faster, thrusted up into her harder. Kastiel slowly came apart above him, her dark eyes melting, melting. He listened to her, listened to the keening cries she made, the moaning whispers that were his name. And he twisted his pelvis, grinding himself against her clit, conscious of her sore back, striving to comfort, to soothe her. To thrill her.

Kastiel dropped her hands down to Torian's shoulders, watching the way his brown eyes gleamed golden in his face, never dropping her gaze from him while the sound of his flesh smacking against hers filled the dimness that surrounded them. Until that's all there was, was each other. Moving, moaning and murmuring back and forth to each other, the rhythm steady, regular and intense. Until it started, bursting upon Kastiel first, the way Torian always liked. Only this time she was looking steadily into his eyes when it happened, and he saw it there first, saw the deep earthy richness of her eyes going sheer, ebony black with the strength of her orgasm. He groaned, "Can feel it. So tight! _Ner_!" He caught her as she collapsed forward against his chest, her forehead laying against his shoulder, shuddering. He held her tight as he spilled inside of her, possessive of every moment her muscles milked against him.

They basked there, laying wrapped around each other as Torian eased back prone onto the surface of the small bed. He held her, refusing to pull himself loose from the grip her channel kept him in, savoring the way her inner muscles continued twitching and contracting against him every so often. He could feel the rough breaths she loosed against his shoulder, could feel the sweat pooling between their bodies until both of them were damp with it. She stroked his upper arms slowly, squeezing against the bunched muscles under her palms intermittently. The quiet was soothing, calming.

She sighed, suddenly, "He'll hate me for it."

He didn't pretend, didn't lie. He simply stroked his fingers up across the still-healing wound along her lower back. "A warrior's supposed to protect, to provide for his clan. The _Resol'nare_ tells us so, tells us what it means to have honor. To fight." His heart thumped against her naked breasts. "Your brother will know that's what you did, that that's what you're doing now. You wear the marks to prove it, Kas."

Kastiel snuffled against him, "But I failed them so badly."

He shook his head. "I was there, Kastiel. You can lie to yourself all you wish. But I saw it myself. I saw you charging forward in defense of your loved ones, your very own _alit_. You put your own life down, agreed to give it up, just so they'd have the chance to live. You didn't even hesitate. It was the bravest thing, that choice." He looked at her when she raised her head back up, her dark eyes shimmering wetly at him in the darkness. The wind continued shrieking outside the shelter, sending shudders twinkling through to them every so often. He reached out to cup the side of her face, rub his thumb gently along her implants. "That's when I fell in love with you, Kastiel. Even if it did take the next decade or so to know that's what it was."

Kas gasped softly, making Torian groan when her wet sheath tightened around him thoroughly. "I looked for you. For so damn long, Torian. Cause that's the way I loved you, too." He grunted a satisfied sound, pulling her forward until her face was buried against his neck, just under his ear, as he rumbled some absurd command about sleeping.

* * *

"Wampas! Do you have any idea how much they friggin' stink? I'd rather bed down with a herd of Wookies for weeks, than to ever again crawl my skinny ass through a cave full of Wampas," Gaibriel snarled, his arms crossed across his chest in a rather incredible stance that reminded everyone there he and Kastiel came from the exact same blood. Then he shot the growling Wookie standing behind him a wry twisted grin so perfectly unique to him no one could help but adore him utterly. Although Risha just rolled her eyes, exasperated. "No offense, Bowe, I swear! You guys are just plain cuddly. Totally unlike Wampas! To-tal-ly!" He waved one gloved hand emphatically, while Corso barked a laugh that he muffled when Mako shot him a glassy-eyed stare over the holodisplay.

Kastiel grumbled sourly, "How'd you end up in a Wampa cave to begin with?"

"Oh, now there's a story worth telling! Prick of a bastard tossed me in there! And after everything I did for 'im, too! I'll kill that fish-head Jedi-wannabe. And then the pirate, too!" Gaibriel kicked against the frozen surface of the ground under his boots, muttering. Corso didn't help things, either, not when he chimed in, "Well, now, cap'n. Not like we were being totally upfront with the pirate. He kind of had a right to be pissed off."

"Oh no, don't you start, Corso! That bastard had no clue I was plannin' on stealing his haul! He tossed us down there out of the no-called-goodness of his itty-little bit of a heart, and you know it! He got off on being a damn bastard, is all. And that has nothing whatsoever to do with the fish-head who sent us out there, either!"

Kastiel shook her head, glancing sideways towards Torian. The Mandalorian was leaning negligently against the ragged edge of icy rock near the front of the small cave where they'd all agreed to gather together so briefly. He'd actually been glad when the smuggler began a near temperamental dance there in the confined space, pretty much burning off whatever agitation he'd been enduring. Better that way, he supposed, than to say something foolish to his sister once she started describing her own news. Gault leaned closer to him, suddenly, and it occured to Torian only then how quiet he had been.

"What the fuck happened out there, dammit? Aren't you supposed to keep her from getting shot to pieces, Mando?" Gault huffed at him. Torian regarded him solemnly, knowing the man's rudeness came more from concern than anything else.

"Wasn't shot."

"What?" Gault almost shouted, clenching his fingers so hard against his rifle he thought they'd break off in just one moment. Everyone stopped. Even Gaibriel spun around to consider the agitated Devaronian. "That's all you have to say about it? That Kas wasn't fucking shot? Well then. Tell me what the fuck happened, that made her lose .. what was it, thirty percent blood loss before you got her to a shelter?"

Torian shrugged, "But I did get her to shelter. Medic fixed the damage and replaced the blood. She's well enough, Gault."

"She shouldn't have been shot to begin with!"

Torian looked at him, "Wasn't she _shot_ on Taris while you were supposed to be defending her from Jicoln's sniper fire?"

"Fuck you!"

"No." Torian leaned closer, glaring at Gault. "That would bother Kas, actually. She's possessive of me."

Gault growled, looking to everyone like he was going to launch himself head-long into physical battle with the Mandalorian. It reminded Kas quite suddenly that the Devaronian had spent years of his life fighting Mandoes. She still wasn't sure he'd manage to defeat one in face-to-face combat, either. She was just about to remind him of that, when Gaibriel suddenly threw a chunk of snow-wrapped rock at Torian.

"Are you _fucking_ my sister?"

The entire group turned gaping eyes towards the smuggler. He glared back at all of them, refusing to apologize for the utter incongruity of a profligate scoundrel expressing offense towards his sister's lover. He simply bent over to gather a new rock and snow enough to ball it all together. Risha was the one who thumped him upside the back of the head, so hard he actually stumbled forward, dropping the snowball he was putting together so that it thumped pitifully against the ground. Akaavi bit her lip to keep from laughing as she yanked on the packs Gaibriel had slung lengthways across his back, before he fell over for good, but Risha shook her head at the Zabraak warrior, "Should just let him go. That's a man who needs a good faceplant into the ground every now and then. Trust me."

"He has his uses, Risha." Akaavi disagreed steadily. Gaibriel sighed dramatically, wondering what it was about Mandalorians that they - and he mentally ticked off the disparate points, too - that they seemed, first, like automatons, like they just didn't need to say anything at all, like they just _knew_, and then, too, turned your groin into a damn raging inferno of lust at the same time. He swallowed convulsively as he scanned Akaavi's figure, just long enough Risha snorted. Which managed to remind him of Torian's insult, too, and Gaibriel spun back around to face the other Mandalorians in the small cave.

Kastiel was arguing with Gault, though. "Come on, Gault! Not like I won't take a hit every now and then. Torian was there, got me patched up. I'm fine!"

"We don't even know what happened, though!"

"And if you'd shut the hell up, maybe we could talk about it, huh?"

Gaibriel was frowning at all of them now. Still mad at the blonde-haired mercenary of a Mando, but never mind. He turned to his near-shouting sister, "Well then. What happened? Where were you shot?"

Kastiel sighed, "I wasn't fucking shot! Damn piece of shrapnel nailed me in the back, is all."

"Was ice, actually. Rather good-sized shard. Melted fast after it penetrated her back, made her bleed. Flew hard at us when the Imperials shot that rocket towards us. Knocked Kas down long enough the Jedi managed to get away." Torian shook his head as he described the incident.

Gaibriel pressed his lips together, so that Mako, her image blinking shrilly there on the tiny holodisplay from Kastiel's commlink, remarked, "You know, Gaib. There are times you look enough like your sister it's uncanny. Kas gets that same look on her face all the time." Gaibriel didn't even look towards the display, though.

"Let me see if I'm getting this right, then." Gaib just blew out a loud breath, glaring again. "Are you telling me, seriously enough, that you were shot by an Imperial rocket? Think you can explain why the Imps were trying to fucking kill you? Oh, and how do I find these sterling examples of Imperial might, by the way?"

Torian grunted, "Already found that squad. What was left of them, at least. They should've hunted for shelter from the storm, rather than chase after the Jedi. Again. It was the Jedi they were looking to kill, not Kas. They just missed the target, is all. All around stupid." Kastiel leaned into Torian's shoulder, until it seemed like they were holding each other up, standing there. She didn't mention how he'd kicked against the frozen stick of a lieutenant lying dead there in the snow, growling a low Mandalorian curse at the dead man.

Gaibriel wagged a finger towards Kastiel, almost laughing, "See what I mean? Damn Imps! I'm telling you, Kas, I got away from the Empire and it was a good thing. Save your sanity and get loose while you're still able!" Kastiel's eyes glimmered with regret, sorrow, looking so stark suddenly that he only stopped, staring back at her with the most serious expression Torian had ever seen on his face. Gaib canted a look towards Torian when the Mandalorian subtly leaned against his sister, blatantly comforting her. "What is it, Kas? What's wrong?"

"They bought and sold you, Gaib! Like a dog! Don't think I can't appreciate how close it came to destroying you. What's good about that?" She nearly shook with agitation, her fingers clenched hard against her sides. The others shifted restlessly, studiously ignoring the painful subject, the way they usually did. All except Gault, who'd not really understood before then where Kas' little brother had spent so much of his growing-up years.

"You survived Imperial slavery? To become a captain of your own ship by the time you were just eighteen damn years old?" Gault breathed out an amazed sigh. Then he shrugged towards Torian, smiling good-naturedly, "I'm telling you. Their daddy must have had balls of fucking iron. The man certainly managed to make some damn incredible kids. Your children, Tor, are going to change worlds. And I'm not even joking."

Gaibriel glared at the Devaronian for a long moment, refusing to be diverted. He looked back at his sister, "Kas, I got away. They didn't manage to destroy shit of me, or of mine. I grabbed my Freedom's Way and I never looked back. Except for you." He gripped her shoulder. "What's bothering you about all of that now?"

"Because I should've ..."

And Gaibriel exploded. He grabbed her by both shoulders, shaking her, "Don't ever say that again! Don't! You were six years-old, Kas, and that son of a bitch picked you up by the throat and tried choking the life from you! You think that if I could've changed that, I wouldn't? You think there's a day that goes by I don't remember and fucking hate it? That I ran and hid instead of helped you!"

"You did what you had to!"

"And so did you!" He shouted at her. Gaibriel dragged several heavy breaths in, slowly running his fingers into his dark hair as he tried catching against the hard agitation, the near fit of hyperventilation he struggled with so routinely. He blinked blearily at his sister, then, taking in the uncovered length of her face, the curves there marked so distinctly with the proof of that day's violence, the scars of it that lived in all of them so overt and easy to see on her face. "I don't blame you, Kas. Not for any of it, not ever. I thought I'd lost you and then I got you back! You're a damn gift, to me!" He waved towards Torian, "And the only reason I won't really beat the shit out of him, is because he's the one who _did_ help you that day! Even if I don't like that he's fucking you!"

Torian grunted, "Not fucking. Loving her."

Gaibriel glared, "You'd better. Or I'll rip it off and stuff it down your damn throat." Torian looked when Corso suddenly coughed uneasily. The soldier shrugged, "Saw him do that once. He doesn't take kindly to men who abuse his sisters."

Kastiel stared at her brother. "For Cam?"

Gaibriel's eyes looked to her right then like shards of clear glass, almost leached of color. She'd have said they were white, they were so vivid against his face as he looked back at her. "There are only a few times in my life I've gladly killed a man. He deserved it. Don't let Corso fool you, either. He helped."

"You really knew she was alive?"

"Yea. Always." Gaibriel frowned at Kastiel. "Why? What's happened?"

She looked at Torian. He nodded, looking back at the smuggler he considered as much a brother as he did Kastiel his woman. The three of them looked, standing there, like a tight-knit unit, like a circle of interlocking pieces to a strange and disjointed puzzle. Akaavi realized suddenly, in that strange sort of body-language way that Mandoes so often used to communicate with, that whatever the smuggler was about to learn was going to be a hard, terrible blow, and she hurriedly stepped closer, until she nearly curled into Gaibriel's back. He stiffened in front of her, not looking behind him, just settling against the comfort her presence offered him.

Torian's voice was dry, firm. The steady patience of his tone washed over the group. "The Jedi the Imperials were chasing ... that was Camiel. That's who they were trying to kill. Good thing they missed. Would've said something more to her but Kas was hurt, bleeding out." He looked at Gaib steadily, reached out to grip the man's forearm in a strong, careful grip. "She didn't remember you, didn't remember her twin."

Gaibriel gasped, staggering back and against Akaavi's armored frame. He mumbled something unintelligible, turning his head briefly to murmur towards Akaavi more coherently, just a low groan of denial, "No." She placed the back of her hand against the his neck, crooning something no one else was able to hear. Gault was shaken, looked at all of them in a slow sweeping sort of gaze, "Well. Shit. So uh ... what do we do?"


	79. Chapter 78 -- Best Day

Khyriel moved fast, looking like nothing so much as a blur would. The motion ruined the smoothly running hum of his generator, breaking the steady stealth he'd worked to maintain. Until right then, when he was able to reach out and grab at the man's collar, holding him firmly as he yanked the fellow off-balance. The man stumbled, hard, falling against Khyriel's own body so that his horn dug sharply into the agent's shoulder.

Khyriel grunted unhappily, slapping him roughly against red-skinned ear. Gault grumbled, as the side of his head smarted painfully, "Ah, no need to get all mean on me. Try beating on someone who didn't just save your fucking ass, maybe. Sheesh."

"Didn't need, didn't _want_ your help, Devaronian."

Gault grinned up at him from his hunched-over position, there against Khy's shoulder. He kept his rifle in plain view, pointed downwards. Totally non-threatening, of course. "Smart to qualify that one, huh? Sure looked like you needed some ass-saving, anyway. That hoity-toity Admiral dude would've killed you, sure and spitting dead you would've been." He sniffed delicately, preening as he rubbed his fingernails against the leathered edges of his chest armor. "Except now, that I lobbed a nice bolt into his brain – well, now he's the one lying all cold and dead back there. Your own pretty ass gets to gallivant off to …well, wherever it is we're going next, huh?"

Khyriel snarled into Gault's face. The Devaronian continued grinning, belying his very real, very frightened concern as he took in the grey shadows and strained lines under Khyriel's dark eyes. He looked so much like his sister right then, like Kastiel did when she'd woken screaming from terrible night terrors over and over again for days at a time. Dark shadows that lurked deeply hidden in the depths of those eyes, hinting at things they couldn't help but fear, the terror that eats at a soul until you feel like you're coming apart. Gault wanted to shoot someone in the face again, actually. Whoever who'd put that pain on her brother's face, preferably.

It's why he couldn't become truly angry even as Khyriel shook him against the grip on his collar, manhandling him, shaking him hard back and forth and growling liberally in frustration. "Tell Kothe he doesn't have to do anything more than spit his stinking command words at me. No reason to send a watcher, too!"

Gault's gaze sharpened immediately, flying to Khyriel's face like the agent had provided him a beacon to home upon. Like he was watching some smoking blaster, maybe. The serious intent on his face was new, startling at least to Khyriel. The agent stared at him as Gault almost barked the words, "Kothe? Is that the name of the SIS bastard, then?" Khyriel frowned, taking in Gault's complete and total focus, the surprise behind the question. It was real, wasn't feigned at all. The Devaronian simply didn't know the name, didn't know anything of Kothe. At the most, he knew Khyriel was being manipulated … by someone, some agent of the SIS. Which left Khyriel at a distinct disadvantage.

Because if the Devaronian wasn't acting on Kothe's behalf, then who's? His head began throbbing again, as he agonized over this new, strange threat. That someone else was hunting him, when he could so barely tolerate the first. He thought fast, hard. Until blood slowly trickled down from his nose, sitting just against his upper lip. Gault became angry suddenly, cursing softly as he glanced towards the nearby room where the bug man was manipulating the little spy from the Chiss. It pissed him off to watch Khyriel bleed like that. And when did he become so gods-damned protective, either? Who knew, back when he looked down the length of her blaster, there in the baking heat of Tattooine, that protecting her and hers would become so damn important to him?

Khyriel only shook his head, though, ignoring the pain, the distress. Just as he'd done for most of the past months. He narrowed his gaze on the Devaronian with single-minded intent, tensing. Gault smiled again, amused as he watched him preparing, "Oh, no. Not going to be pulling any blades, here, Khyriel Phyre. Not allowed to gut me today." He shot a glance over Khy's shoulder, subtly nodding to the figure stepping close behind the agent. Khyriel cursed, tried to push Gault away, to turn and face the new threat. But the burning hiss of a spray hypo against his back screamed through his senses before he could move.

Khy stumbled, falling against the Devaronian in a sorry, pitiful heap. The man held onto him so he didn't tumble down in a pile of dead weight onto the floor, lifting his pointed red-skinned chin as he grumbled to Khyriel's attacker, "Watch it, girl! He gets hurt and she'll lop off my good horn! Damn it, grab his legs." Khy tried speaking, to say something, but his vocal cords remained pitifully paralyzed, thanks to whatever drug it was they'd injected. He felt slender hands grabbing him around his legs, so the two of them could lift and carry him into one of the darker alcoves of the wrecked starship, back where Vector and Temple wouldn't be able to see, to find him.

He couldn't move, couldn't yell and rail. He only listened, watching, seething silently as he waited for them to finish whatever it was they intended. Then he heard a feminine voice, dark and sultry-sounding. And a beautiful-looking woman leaned over him, where he was laying against the cold metal flooring of the ship's deck plating. She was brusque as she looked down at him, her gaze flaring with interest as she took in his dark features. He wasn't certain, exactly, what it was she was trying to find in the angular shape of his face, the turn of his nearly-black eyes, the sweaty tendrils of his black hair freezing into clumps against his neck. Whatever it was, though, she found it, her brown eyes flaring with fascination as she chewed on her pretty lip.

"Don't say it." The Devaronian reached out to poke the woman against the side of her face. She glared back at him. Khyriel decided the bitter anger on her face was reason enough to keep from killing her when he finally got up off the floor. If only because that's precisely how he felt about the Devaronian, too. Well, that, and she was just pretty enough to play with beforehand, too. "He's got a memory I figure his daddy provided him. Along with those eyes, to boot. The paralyzing agent doesn't work to make him unaware. Just quiet and still."

"Why do moronic men continue to think they can treat me like a cute little ninny?" She continued staring down at Khyriel, her gaze intent, as if she were drinking up every nook and turn of the keen angles of his face. She swept her eyes up to look back at Gault, so that Khyriel was left to stare up towards the pretty curve of her up-thrust jaw. He decided he'd spit in frustration at not being able to reach her chin with his tongue. If he could move enough to spit, damn it. "You have to admit, though. He looks …"

"Probably like his father, just like I said, huh? Now hush." The Devaronian leaned over Khyriel once again, blocking the agent's view of the woman's face. He mentally sighed, then frowned, as Gault went about lifting his shoulder up to expose the limp length of his well-muscled arm. Not that he missed the woman's delighted sigh as she considered the rest of his body, either. The Devaronian smirked at her over his shoulder, "Don't think he can manage to get hard enough, here, girl. You may want to take that sweet arousal off to guard the doorway, before bug boy comes looking, hmm?"

"Bastard imp."

Khyriel listened as the woman got huffily to her feet and stomped – quietly stomped but stomped away, nonetheless. He smiled to himself, considering how much he'd enjoy finding the woman later. And the damn devil prodding against his shoulder knew it, too. The humming sounds of amusement he made as he went about whatever he was doing made that perfectly clear, anyway. Khy heard the loud hiss of an injector, thought he would've twitched in agitation if he had the chance. What new torture did this latest medical injection offer, he wondered dully. And why did everyone seem to desire fucking around with his insides lately?

Then the Devaronian leaned back around, smiling into his paralyzed face one more time. "Okay, here's the deal, agent." Gault leaned close enough he knew Khyriel could see every splotch of color on his red, Devaronian face. He canted his head only slightly, enough the young agent would be able to see every chip in his broken horn, every single line and wrinkle marking his face. Important, he thought, that Khyriel break free of the hold the bastards had on him, yes. But when he did, he'd go hunting through the bits and pieces of information he had on hand. Wouldn't take him long to find his older sister, he didn't think. And he figured it was just damn time he got on along the task. "Not here to harm you. Was told quite firmly to keep you safe, rather. I like to think I'm pretty good at my work, too. Now, you can certainly get bent out of shape over today's events, if you want. Don't really give a shit." He glanced over towards Risha, where she was standing nearby the door. He sent her a brief whistle. He listened as the other sniper kicked hard against a molding railing, until the thing finally broke, tumbling in broken pieces towards the ground and sending a booming, crashing sound reverberating through the entire wreck. "Bottom line? There are people determined to keep that handsome ass of yours intact. And they pay well. Call yourself lucky today, huh?"

Khyriel watched in bemusement as the woman trotted back towards her companion. She sighed as she looked down at the agent's stiff, frozen form against the ground, there, "Too bad." Gault guffawed, grabbing against her elbow as he gestured towards the nearby hallway leading out of the starship. Khyriel listened to the sound of their feet thudding against the drifts of snow that lay in patches all along the metal walkway. He smiled to himself, again, as they continued their bantering, even as they rushed out the doors before Vector could respond to the cacophony.

"That one? He'll find you, girlie. Give you just a piece of that pizzle in his pants, I have no doubt. Until then … hey, I've got nothing on my list of things to do tonight! Want to enjoy a drink at the cantina?"

"Since we can hardly visit the same cantinas, I'm not sure that's even a plausible scenario. Forget for a moment, I'd not want you anywhere near my naked form. No matter how drunk you managed to get me."

"Oh you cruel, vicious little creature. You should introduce yourself to Khyriel's little Rattataki. She's just as mean. But she did sleep with me!"

"She has poor taste."

"She slept with Khyriel, too!"

"I'll wager real money she slept with him first, however."

"Are you saying I'm second-rate?"

"I didn't say that. You did."

"My heart's bleeding here, kid you not."

"Oh, good. Something positive from today's adventure."

* * *

"Kren, you may want to wrap something around those pointy ears of yours. They're trembling. Since I'm nice like that, I'll assume it's the cold and not complete and utter fear that's making them do that." Kastiel leaned closer to the Abyssin, watched as his green splotchy skin darkened into a more mottled complexion. She smiled, "Hoth is a far cry from Byss, huh? Should've gone home long before now, Kren."

He growled at her in that strange earthy tone common to the Abyssin. Kastiel found it a particularly discomfiting language, enough she'd avoided learning how to replicate it. She banked on the man understanding Basic, though, as much as she did his complete ignorance that she understood his every word, translator or not. "If you think I'll be as easy as those targets you made of Ayor and Gradak, you're more a fool than I thought."

Kastiel barked an amused sound, "Good to hear you White Maw types have been telling stories about me. Was the whole point of gunning down those two and as many of their lousy pirate buddies they had with them, too."

Torian grunted, "Didn't shoot Gradak."

"True. There's a particular irony, don't you think, Kren, in burning to death in a pool of lava on a frigid world like Hoth? One would assume the cold would kill you far quicker than the heat, here." Kastiel nodded contemplatively. "Which brings us back to your pointy ears. You'll lose the tips to frostbite if you leave them shivering in the cold, you know."

She watched the man as he started to reach up towards his ears. He suddenly huffed, though, dropping his long arms in what seemed to be a fit of temper. "Enough! My ears are no concern of yours!"

"Hey. I'm just trying to help. No need to get all riled up over nothing," Kas smiled lightly as Torian shifted, standing there along her side so that their shoulders just barely brushed up against each other's. "Regardless. I'm here to offer you a Blooding."

Ki-ta Kren's big one eye widened as he considered the Mandalorian woman standing there in front of him. He'd never encountered a human familiar with Abyssin custom. It left him feeling off-balance. Occurred to him, too, that in so misjudging her in this simple manner, he might have misjudged her otherwise, as well. Unease slithered coldly down the length of his curved spine, even as his single eye meandered a long gaze up and down her frame. She looked like any other ordinary Mandalorian, like every other one of those hunters intent on the next great bounty, the next great target. The male standing alongside her looked similar enough, too, anyway. Like they were a cohesive fighting unit, like they belonged together. Even if the colors splashed onto each one of their armor sets differed, with hers more green than his yellow pieces. Not that her armor was anything but well-cared for, of course. Mandalorians practically lived in their armors, he'd been told. There simply didn't seem to be anything that set her off and apart from an ordinary, typical human fighter.

Kren warbled at her, "You heard of my blooding with Vause, then."

"Figured that's what it was, when it was described to me," she responded. Kren wondered what her voice would sound like if the faceplate that covered her features was taken away. But humans were typically pale ugly little creatures. And their dual eyed stare was unnerving, too. He was rather glad to have this conversation around face coverings. She leaned against one booted foot, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at him. "I somewhat doubt Vause himself understood the ritual when he fought you. Don't mistake me. I'm not so much a fool as Vause, I don't offer a blooding without appreciating it for what it is."

Kren frowned. "My brother, Vause, is a strong fighter."

"I'm pretty sure he's quite capable of bashing himself against big nasty opponents, yea. Doesn't change his utter lack of real intelligence." She glanced around towards the other pirates gathered together in the open space, working so hard to secure the cannons on the large derelict. Preferably before the Empire or Republic soldiers figured out what they were doing, probably. If they did, this entire wreck of a starship would become one big blazing target. From orbit, no doubt. "If he was anything less than stupid, he would've met me head-on back when I introduced myself and just finished it. Instead, I've swept through White Maw ranks and cleaned house, killed your captains. And here I am, prepared to kill you, too. You'd think he'd have been smarter, hmm?" Mumbles of discontent rumbled through the place. Kas smiled behind her faceplate, as the stories of her steady decimation of White Maw ranks were mumbled over and shared. Kren was growing agitated.

"You can not kill me! Humans are weak, insignificant creatures! You do not understand ..."

She held up one gloved hand. "Oh, please! You're hardly the first Abyssin I've encountered. Although those were pitiful creatures used as pets by Sith masters. I'm certain you would've been leery of claiming them as kin. Still. Hit you hard enough, in enough places, and it won't matter how fast you typically heal. You'll die eventually." She shrugged one slim armored shoulder, as if unconcerned. "Or you can accept the blooding and I'll just beat on you a while, instead. Up to you."

Kren felt the tips of his ears trembling suddenly, as he realized this one's confidence was born from knowledge, understanding. She knew her enemy, knew how to defeat him. She wasn't afraid. So his ears trembled. He wished he could say it was the cold.

* * *

_"What do you think it means to be brave, Kas?"_

_"Why do you ask?"_

_"Not sure you see yourself the way that I do."_

_"What do you see when you look at me, then, hmm?"_

_"Bravery. Saw it when I first laid eyes on you. Most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Thought you were _vod_, you were so damn brave. Because only a Mando would be that brave, that strong. Loved you then."_

_"Like a sister?"_

_"I was five. Took time for me to grow big enough to love you like I do now."_

_"So all you see is how brave I am?"_

_"Not all I see, no."_

_"What else do you see?"_

_"Are you looking for sweet words? Or trying to hide from my question?"_

_"Both, of course."_

_"Why do you hide?"_

_"Cause I don't see how it's brave, when all I do is what needs doing."_

_"Even when doing it threatens yourself?"_

_"It's right."_

_"That's what makes you brave. That you don't stop, not even for a second, to do what's needed no matter the risk to yourself."_

_"I'm not so sure. I keep screwing it all up."_

_"You've succeeded more than not."_

_"Tell that to my parents, my brothers. Hell, tell that to my sisters. Both of them! Tell that to Braden, to Anuli. So many people who counted on me and got hurt. Or worse, got dead."_

_"You'll see. Before it's finished."_

_"Let's talk about what else you see, besides my bravery."_

* * *

At least he didn't strut, like some crazy bird with a fanning tail. He would have called it bravery, the way he faced her. He was certainly big enough, looming over her frame there in the center of the frozen derelict. She glanced around the wide open space he called a theatre, with piles of snow inching through the gaping holes in the shattered hull of the starship. A theatre, designed for a show. Because that's Vause wanted to give these pitiful pirate thugs. A show, of how impressively undefeated he was. And that's why he hissed at her, too, "My Jagganath is great. The Scorekeeper knows me, knows my worth. I will break you into pieces, so you see as she does. That none can defeat me."

Kastiel didn't hesitate. She didn't even stop. Hell, she didn't know how. She only lashed out, with one single hard fist, reaching for the Trandoshan's yellow scaly face. The first punch, and it caught Vause along the left side of his face, neatly breaking the blood vessels under his skin so that a bruise would slowly bloom there and the flesh swelled into immediate throbbing pain. He leaned his head back onto his neck, grunting in surprise as he stumbled backwards only slightly. He tried snarling. But Kastiel was speaking and none of the pirates gathered into a semi-circle, there in that wide space in the wrecked starship - none of them was able to hear anything else but the strong words she said. "You speak of your god like you stand alongside her. Which is just such shit, Vause. You're no god. Hell, I wouldn't even call you a leader. Not if you're so quick to let your enemies capture the men who follow you."

Behind her, Torian smiled. He watched her, of course. The way he loved to watch her, sliding his gaze against the curves and twists her body made as she flowed, there, through the battle she made with Reneget Vause. The big Trandoshan tried using his size, his strength to bear down against her, but the effort was futile. Kastiel was quicker, always dancing just out of his reach. She made no mockery of him, didn't taunt him. Even when it became apparent she was wearing him down, slowly whittling away at his ability to fight.

She was showing just who his Scorekeeper really favored today. Showing how hard the mighty can fall, can break. And Vause was growing increasingly desperate, especially when Kastiel continued to rely on her fists, not her blasters as she fought. She made it obvious she sought to take him down, to keep him alive. To capture him. Not to kill him. She kicked him, hard, breaking some kind of bone in his ankle or foot so that he stumbled after her. She gripped his hand, yanking hard until the sound of his arm breaking filled the air. And she pummeled his face and body, breaking ribs, shattering teeth, bruising yellow scales. Vause leaned his head down, angrily spitting some bloody teeth-filled phlegm out towards the floor. He roared in frustration, yelling at her, "Why don't you just stand there and die the way you're supposed to?"

Kas stopped, staring at him. She was panting, with sweat dampening her temple and the sides of her face behind her helmet. She leaned her head to the side, glancing over towards Torian. He hadn't moved, stood there as patient as he always was. Like he'd never doubted for a single moment the fight would end any different. Like he believed in her. Always believed. Then she looked back at the lizard man, shaking her head. "Because I have things to do before I die. And you're in the way."

Vause knelt there, aching, holding his broken arm against his sore abdomen. "Then finish me. Don't give them what they want."

Kastiel stepped closer, clenching her fingers into a tight steely fist. Torian knew what she was thinking right then, who she was thinking of, that taking from someone smaller only to betray them in the end was unforgiveable. She'd told him earlier, as they waited for Vause to respond to Kren's low song of defeat over the holo, "_You don't do it. You don't accept anyone's loyalty as a given. You damn well earn it. When you fail it, break it - well, then. You get the exact same, in turn_." Kas had promised a small Jawa she'd punish Vause. And she kept her promises.

Her fist flew, pounding against the side of the his face with several loud cracking noises. He collapsed into a groaning heap against the cold snow-strewn floor, utterly broken. She raised her chin, gesturing towards Torian and he glided forward, setting his knee into the Trandoshan's lower back. Vause whimpered through the blood that filled his mouth, "No." But the Mandalorian trussed him neatly enough, winding ropes into place around his wrists and ankles, securing him until he was utterly immobile. Kastiel glowered towards Kren, then, who'd raised his hands up defensively.

"You're brother to me, human. Like Vause is. I will not fight you anymore." The Abyssin lowered his chin, ignoring the burning pain that smarted against the torn ends of his ears. Excuse to wrap them up, is what she'd said when she ripped against them. Now he backed away from her slowly, leaving Vause there, to become her prize, her trophy. Kastiel watched him go, the small crowd of stunned pirates rushing around him towards the long door at the end of the yawning space. Torian climbed back to his feet, watching her as he thought of her ferocious offense over such a tiny Jawa.

She'd fight harder than anything for their sons, he thought suddenly. For their daughters. He gasped lightly, as he slowly, deliberately settled his gaze against the flat armored plates that covered her pretty little belly. He imagined it round and full, and ached with want, became taught and hard in a sudden rush of desire. There wasn't anything he wanted more, than forever with her. He thought over Corridan's new message, his call for help, knew he'd have to go and fight with him, with his brothers. But first ... he felt his chest tighten, watching Kastiel's slim muscled form curl around until she faced him, remembered all the warriors who'd bragged and swore they'd offer her their clan name. She'd take his own, though. He was certain of it.

He watched her moving towards Vause's broken body, calling into her commlink for Gault, "You guys finish it? It's done? Good, then. Meet up where we said." Torian frowned.

Almost certain, at least. Maybe. No.

Damn it.

* * *

Blizz smiled gleefully as the two big men dragged the Boss into the barred cage across from him. The yellow-haired human grunted towards the other one, the one that had a single pointed horn against the side of his red-skinned forehead and a jagged, broken-edged horn that mirrored it on the other side. The Devaronian man was talking, "So did Kas leave a square inch on the 'Doshan's body un-broken? Sheesh, he's like one great big black and blue bruise. Which is impressive, considering he's got such pretty yellow scales, not skin. What'd he do to piss her off?"

Torian shrugged. "Not pissed. Just thought he needed punishment. For the Jawa."

Gault looked in the direction Torian gestured. He gaped at Blizz, "How the fuck did a Jawa get to Hoth? And how the fuck does it manage to stink so much surrounded by all this cold wet snow, by the way?"

"Followed a crew off-world." Torian canted his head to the side as he considered Gault's expression. "You have a problem with Jawas?"

Gault grumbled, "Anyone's who's ever tried selling speeders on Tattooine would have a problem with Jawas. Trust me. They'll steal a deal right out from under your damn feet. It's frustrating beyond all measure."

Torian grinned. "Might want to get used to this one, though. Kas is bringing it along."

Gault's jaw dropped. "No! Gods, the monkey-lizard is bad enough! Where is she? She talking to the Chiss now? No way! Kas! Kastiel!" He turned and rushed out of the cell block, ignoring the Chiss guards as he went. Blizz stared after him for a long moment. Then he turned to regard the human warrior, all wrapped up in tough, intricately-wired armor. He chittered happily at the protective stance the warrior made towards the nearby guards, who'd only now given up on prodding at him through the bars of his cage.

Blizz looked over at the bleeding, groaning figure of Reneget Vause on the floor in the next cage, and he smiled. "Best day ever!"


	80. Chapter 79 -- My Clan Name

Kastiel snorted as she stumbled over another cargo container in the lower hold. She snapped her head around to glare angrily towards the ship droid. Two actually clanged as it began trembling and shaking. She wondered only vaguely what compelled the little cretin of a Neimoidian who'd once owned the droid – she'd decided to "forget" he'd owned her Bad Boy once upon a time, too – what reason he had to program the droid with such inanities as friggin' shaking every time a person paid it attention. Simply annoying, the way it constantly apologized and begged her to not destroy it. Which is precisely what the damn thing proceeded to do, as it stood there shaking, "I'm so sorry, master! Please don't deactivate me!"

Kas sighed as she subtly rubbed her aching toe along the back of her calf. "Just shut up, Two, gods. Seriously, if I haven't deactivated you by now, what the fuck makes you think I'm going to do it this time?" She glanced around at the tumble of cargo containers there in the hold. "Where did all this shit come from, by the way?"

"Mistress Mako was under the impression that space needed to be made for the newest crew member apart from the regular crew quarters. Something about 'his hygiene habits', she said. I have dutifully cleared a nearby closet. I hope I acted appropriately."

Kastiel waved her hand, "No, no. She's got a point. Gault's already throwing hissy fits about Blizz. But make sure the it's comfortable enough before Blizz makes the space his own." Two warbled several obsequious assurances while Kas shoved against the containers, manhandling them into better positions against the walls. The droid continued its diatribe, though, until the damn thing sounded like a broken recording that skipped in an endless loop against the background of her consideration. She finally broke under the strain, "Gods, Two, just shut the fuck up! Just … go stand there against the wall. Sleep mode, for two hours at least. Please!" She shoved her hair out of her eyes as she straightened, watching as the droid stumbled over itself to comply. She sighed with exasperation, "I'm so going to reprogram you, first chance. Annoying piece of junk."

Torian's step on the nearby stairwell snagged her attention, then, and she turned, smiling when she saw his blonde head ducking down over the railing so he could find her. He grumbled with amusement, "Still can't sneak up on you."

Kastiel smirked, "Then why try?"

"Want to surprise you." Torian stopped on the bottom step, waving towards her as a small nervous grin tweaked his mouth. Kastiel cocked her head towards him, wondering what game he was playing. But her hair fell back into her face again. She huffed an exaggerated sound of annoyance as she pushed it back. Torian smiled, "Need it cut again?"

"It's driving me out of my mind! Or that might be the droid, I don't know. Both, probably." She finally reached around, dragging her hair into a rough tail against the back of her head and securing it with a banded tie just as she reached him. Torian murmured an agreeable sound as the motion exposed the curve of implants tucked into the soft flesh of her ears. He reached out to touch against one of them, curling the tip of his finger along the sensitive skin of her ear, there.

"So pretty, Kas."

Her lips parted as she glanced up into his eyes, the pleasure of the compliment sliding through her even as her nose twitched in disagreement. "Maybe I'm not the only one who's out of their mind, hmmm?" She dropped her gaze to consider him standing there, taking in his trim form perched there on the stair. Both of them were dressed casually, while the armors they maintained were settled along the length of the workbench in various states of cleaning and repair. It's why it was Torian's bare hand that wrapped snugly around her wrist as he lead her up the stairs, stepping quietly in the soft boots that covered his feet. Kastiel hummed as she regarded the twist of his lean hips in the dark brown trousers he was wearing, ignoring the chuckle he sent her as they went up into the main living space of the ship.

"Stop it. Keep it up, and we'll never manage to eat first." Torian guided Kastiel towards the galley table. The ship was quiet, especially now that Two had powered down. Gault had taken Blizz off on some sort of adventure, as he called it. She'd heard him muttering something about a bath as the small Jawa tumbled along beside him when they went out the airlock doors together. Mako followed after them, bouncing through the airlock as she sang about nabbing some materials Corso couldn't get in Republic space, all of which were readily available in the marketplace area of the spacedock.

"As long as we can take advantage of the quiet while it lasts, huh?" Kas stopped, staring as she regarded the tantalizing smells coming from the dishes set into place. "What is that? It smells incredible." Kastiel inhaled slowly as her mouth took to watering.

"_Tiingilar_. Made it for you. Wasn't sure you'd tried it before. It's one of my favorites, good _hetikles_." Torian watched as Kas scrambled to take a seat against the table, reaching happily for a plate. She didn't even hesitate as she leaned over the dish to appreciate the scent, sniffing loudly before turning to Torian with a single dark eyebrow raised up. He felt his groin go taut with desire, of course. He'd watched Mako practically run towards the stairs as he was cooking the meal. But _his_ hunter? She met the experience as boldly as she did everything, stopping only long enough to silently ask him to join her. Beautiful woman.

Kastiel smiled as Torian settled down next to her, close enough his body heat reached out to tease against her senses as he handed her a dish piled with richly spiced meat and vegetables. She muttered, "_Tiingilar_. No, I've never tried it before. Heard some of the warriors talking about it once, nearby the Enclave. They'd challenged one of the Imperial soldiers to try it and laughed when he called for medical help after. I thought it was a game they were talking about at first, like a challenge of some sort."

He looked at her. "Near the Enclave?"

Kastiel nodded as she savored her meal, moaning in pleasure at the spicy kick of the food against the back of her throat. "Spent a lot of time there, watching the warriors coming and going. Always looking. Tobie would groan about it, said he knew where to find me whenever it was I went missing. Just about spanked my ass when I followed some of the hunters into the jungles outside the city, though." She leaned back against the bench, sighing happily as she chewed. "This is so good."

Torian leaned closer, nuzzling against her temple as he basked again in the pleasant knowing she'd kept looking for him. He adored the way she always wanted him, needed him. He murmured softly, "They say any woman who can survive a plate of _tiingilar_ is a keeper."

She turned to face him fully, smiling as she leaned up, swinging her leg over his waist until she straddled him fully. He eased back against the wall behind the bench, wrapping his hands softly around her thighs so he could pull her close enough her warm core was nestled up against his own. He inhaled her scent, the spices of her meal and the soaps of her recent bath, all combining together into the delicious expanse of woman, there on top of him. She rasped, "You want to keep me, then?"

His eyes darkened suddenly. He reached up, laying both his hands against the sides of her face so he could pull her towards him. Kas gasped softly as she felt her breasts squashed into the hard length of his chest. Torian rubbed his thumbs along the sides of her face, back and forth, groaning out, "Yes. Want you, want to keep you. Want to marry you, Kas."

She breathed in slowly as her eyes melted into his gaze. Like warm, smooth liquid in the soft expanse of her face. She leaned into his touch, smiling, "It's about time you asked."

Torian grunted nervously, "Been waiting?"

She laughed lightly. "Maybe just a little while." She butted her nose against his as she smoothed her lips over his mouth. He slanted his face to better kiss her, taste her, moving his mouth back and forth so that the sensitive flesh of her lips tingled and swelled against his. He ran his mouth down, over the corner of her lips to cross against the bump of her chin and then down her neck. She leaned her head back, baring her neck to his touch, just holding onto him, with her fingers gripping the short hair against the back of his head.

Then he pulled back, looking at her seriously. His eyes were brightly gleaming, like fire there in his face. He tucked her closer to him, until the length of her body was draped against him and their faces were so close they were practically breathing back and forth for each other. "Love you, Kas. _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde_. _Cyare_. _Riduur_. Love you forever."

Kastiel licked gently against Torian's chin, tickling the slender stripe of hair he kept trimmed there and listening as he groaned with desire again. "Mine. My husband. _Mhi solus tome_. _Mhi solus dar'tome_. _Mhi me'dunui an_. _Mhi ba'juri verde_. _Ner riduur_." She interspersed her words with brief kisses, ghosting her lips back and forth across his face. Until she finished, and he buried his face back into the soft skin of her throat, groaning heated words. He told her he loved her again, told her his hopes. He told her he wanted her, had always wanted her. The words came, one after another. And Kastiel held onto him the whole while, her dark head hanging back and her scarred face looking up towards the roof of the galley, smiling.

* * *

Jagger leaped to his feet, balancing himself along the thin, slender spine of the beast they were riding. He raised his green hands into the air, yelling wildly in celebratory cheer as the Thranta slowly drifted to the ground. He looked incredible, brightly green with his armor gleaming in the pale sunlight of the early Alderaan spring. The mountains stretched high above his head, the snow on the peaks providing a dramatic backdrop to his stance. Corridan sighed dramatically loud as he stood there on the ground, watching. He glanced aside, towards the fighters standing there with wide grins stretching across their respective faces, biting his lip to keep from smiling himself. "Admire Torian, rather. Look. He's ably holding onto the saddle, rather than dancing on the animal's ass."

The other Mandalorians laughed loudly. Many of them cheered and waved towards Jagger as the Thranta landed against the surface of the landing site. The Alderanians manning the transport cried out, rushing forward to secure the winged creature while Jagger jumped down to the ground with a single, wild flip of motion. Torian shook his head, grinning wide as he slid safely down from the back of the Thranta. Corridan slapped the blonde-haired Mandalorian against his shoulder as he approached, laughing, "Taking care?" Corridan had wondered if the Champion would come with him, but Torian was adamantly protective of her, insisting she steer clear of battles with Jedi. At least for a time. Corridan subsided when his friend shook his head against the chance, and told him why. Being hunted by the Jedi was difficult enough without giving them even more reason.

Jagger raised himself straight from the low bows and inflections he was making in front of the laughing troop. He looked over at Corridan, his white teeth shining brightly in his wide grin. He shouted, "He'd better! Or his _wife_ will take him apart! I tattooed the Champion's neck myself, back on Vaiken, mind you. That one's tough as all the Hells, barely flinched as I worked the ink! She's well able to beat your skinny ass, Torian!"

Torian snorted, "My ass isn't so skinny, Jagger. Wouldn't keep her from beating me, though, you're right."

Corridan raised a single fist into the air and grabbed Torian's shoulder with his other arm to pull him solidly against his side as he turned to the other Mandalorians, shouting, "She said _yes_! _Oya_!" The Alderanians looked over at them, fighting to hold the Thranta in place, as wild Mandalorian cheers of revelry filled the air. One of the men looked towards his friend, frowning, "Never thought of Mandalorians as ... happy sorts."

His friend shook his head, amused, "When you fight as much as they do, life's celebrations take on a whole new meaning, I would think."

* * *

"Master Seros, the hunter could be useful, an invaluable tool in service to the Republic. It would have the added benefit, too, of providing her the means to compensate for the injustice she did the Jedi. A win-win, if you will." The Overseer sighed as he watched the Jedi, saw the order's Battlemaster purse his lips into the closest sign of repugnance he imagined a Jedi capable of. Guaging the emotions of a Jedi could prove a heady and difficult challenge. But working with them as often as the GenoHaradan did made the task significantly valuable.

Seros lowered his chin. "The hunter _will_ meet justice, rather. Not given license to do as she wills. I am hopeful your attentions will not be required. But you must be prepared, regardless."

The Overseer was thoughtful, reaching up mindlessly to pull his earlobe between his fingers, which he began rubbing mechanically. Seros had considered the human on many occasions, wondered at his origins. His name, even. But he'd long since accepted the limits to the information the Overseer was willing to provide him, nonetheless. "Her movements are so difficult to ascertain?"

"It's her motivations that remain unclear. Aside from simple greed or base pleasure over the course of her hunts, of course. I can not determine what's important to her."

The Overseer smiled with cold calculation, "Her friends. You must determine who it is she calls friend. Or lover, even more important. Few things will get a person moving faster, give them more impetus than to have someone they care for threatened." The Jedi shifted softly, still looking serenely unconcerned. Even as he wondered how many beings had faced the Overseer's "impetus" over the years. Then he thought, suddenly, how strongly the impulse towards justice the hunter's own actions had proven to he himself, already. Perhaps that was the only sort of real language the woman understood, that only serious prodding would compel her.

The Overseer considered Seros's, as he became suddenly contemplative. The greying Jedi even frowned slightly, "I have word she's met with the other Hunt champions, that they're the ones passing her marks, guiding her hunts. She's been seen on Taris. And now, on Hoth. She threatened one of our Knights there."

"Yes. I heard she took down Reneget Vause on Hoth. He'd become something of a legend among the pirates in that region of space. As he was harrassing Imperial and Chiss targets, more than Republic, we'd yet to make any motions against him." The Overseer touched the tip of his mouth with one finger as he considered. "Her success at taking down targets no one else has managed to break is why she's such a fascinating opportunity, Master Seros. The hunt on Taris, for instance. That was a Mandalorian who'd successfully evaded capture for nearly two decades."

Seros grunted, "Why would the Mandalorians have her hunt one of their own?"

"He was an exile. Reviled by them so much that even his own son helped her to destroy him." A brief, thin smile flitted across the Overseer's mouth. "You would've seen him, surely. He was the man accompanying the hunter when she killed your Jedi padawan on Quesh. He hasn't left her side since Taris, in fact."

"No. I had no idea who the man was, thought him little more than a puppet jumping at the hunter's direction. Or a guard, maybe. Someone the Mandalore directed to watch and teach the hunter."

The Overseer hummed thoughtfully, "His Clan name is Cadera. He's worth investigating. Especially if his value to the hunter is high enough. We'll see."

* * *

**Some words in Mando'a worth translating, then:**

**_Tiingilar _- An intensely spicy Mandalorian dish made from meat and vegetables. Its spicy scent was strong enough it actually burned a person's nasal passages, an effect known as _hetikles_.**

**_Hetikles_ - Or "noseburn", in Galactic Basic. The effect produced by the heavy use of spices in Mandalorian cooking, prized among the Clans as one of the four qualities of good cooking.**

**_Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde _- "We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors." Mandalorian marriage vows. Mandalorians didn't share their vows publicly, as a rule. Weddings were typically private, with the couple exchanging their vows either in person, or even over commlink. Celebrations that involved friends and festivity normally followed sometime later. Marriage was considered a lifelong commitment among Mandalorians, and most of them were married around the age of sixteen.**

**_Cyare_ - "Beloved" or "Loved". A popular term of endearment.**

**(_Ner_) _Riduur_ - (My) "Spouse", "Wife", "Husband".**

**Finally, the GenoHaradan was a guild comprised of carefully chosen bounty hunters and assassins that relied on strict secrecy. They worked almost exclusively for the Republic, seeing their mission as preserving the Republic. Real arguments could be made that the guild actually controlled and manipulated the course of Republic politics. The leadership of the guild was comprised of four seperate Overseers, all of whom remained secret. Their identities were hidden even from each other, in fact.**


	81. Chapter 80 -- Explosions Aplenty

Kastiel reached up, high, maneuvering the detonator carefully into place. She could sense Gault behind her, the utter stillness of his stance betraying his sheer nervousness at the motions they were making. He didn't even twitch as Kas thumbed the timer against the side of the device and then eased back from the bridge's central pylon. She scanned the expanse of filthy water that streamed under the bridge, looking down along the banks towards the large factory-looking structure pumping some sort of sludge into the poisonous air, and grunted towards Gault, "Quesh is almost as used up as Nal'Hutta. Almost."

"Not like we're here to sight-see. Although I wouldn't mind checking up on the welfare of that little Imperial scad from last time, either. Wonder if he ever managed to breathe right after Torian worked him over," Gault followed her through the water, blithely ignoring the greasy residue left on his leathered pants as they moved. He wondered when it was he'd become so accustomed to these disgusting circumstances, trudging through shit as often as he seemed to be doing since he'd met Kastiel. Still. He tapped the buckles that secured his face mask in place, making sure the thing was still planted firmly, there, covering his mouth and nose. No reason to take chances with his actual health, he thought.

They slid through the water, moving slowly along the stream's edge until they found the path that lead towards the outcropping of stone wall, left abandoned years earlier, that overlooked the stretch of roadway extending out from the manufactory. Kastiel settled down onto the ground next to Gault, until her hip dug into his side as he lay flatly prone along the surface. He pulled his rifle up to sight down the length of the barrel. "We're going to be late for your party, Kas. You know that, right? Bloodworthy is going to be heartbroken, just heartbroken. You even went and got married without inviting him to the wedding."

The bounty hunter grumbled, "Didn't even invite _you_, Gault. Think we worked to get rid of you guys on purpose, actually. And this shouldn't take too long, either."

Gault grumbled a morose sound, pretending sadness. Complete with mopey eyes that made her chuckle. He grinned at her, then turned back to watch through his scope again. That's why he was the first to see a small squad of Republic troopers vault through the gate of the teeming structure. They were following a human male with brown hair light enough to be almost blonde, who managed somehow to look attractive even with one of those silly-looking masks stretched over his face. The group began loping towards the trees and bushes lining the roadway, making for a fairly obvious extraction. Gault hummed towards her as he pointed at the man, "That's probably one of the bastards, there, Kas. Could take him out, here."

Kastiel shook her head, laying a single hand against Gault's shoulder. "No. Haven't caught sight of Khyriel since he went through the gate. Just stay focused on what we're here to do."

"Okay. But we may regret it in the long run."

"Just want to make sure my brother gets away from this shit-hole in one piece today, Gault. We'll worry about 'the long run' later."

Gault gently removed his finger from the trigger, watching as the Republic squad disappeared down the roadway. He leaned softly against Kastiel's hold on his shoulder, grunting, "He's fine, don't worry. X was quick to point out how ready he is for this confrontation. Calm down."

She sighed behind the Mandalorian faceplate that covered her face. Too bad, really. Because Gault had murmured approvingly when he caught sight of the artistic tattoo inked into the skin of her neck, like burgundy-colored fingers that drifted across the scars there. Too pretty to cover up, he'd told her. But Kastiel had only shrugged as she pulled the helmet over her head before climbing onto the shuttle this morning, "Didn't do it so everyone could have a show of my face, Gault." How the woman could remain so self-conscious about herself befuddled the ever-living crap out of him, too. But he accepted it as yet another one of those minor annoyances that just made her adorable, really.

The ground shook under them suddenly, as plumes of smoke appeared over the factory. Gault murmured a small sound as they both watched the gate carefully, both still and silent. Gault could hear Kastiel breathing, they were so quiet. And that's when Khyriel darted through the blasted-open doorway nearby the gate, rushing through the space with his little dark-skinned companion following along behind him. Kastiel huffed in a breath when she saw him. Gault smiled, pointing at the slight figure of the woman who stayed close to him as he went, "He seems to like the little female. Hasn't been too far from him since Hoth."

Kastiel muttered, "He likes a lot of females. Just be ready."

Gault growled low, his finger tightening on the trigger as he watched a motley group of Republic soldiers chasing after the pair, "He'll be fine. I told you, don't worry." He sighted down the length of his rifle, inhaling slowly. His first shot took down the soldier in the rear. "See?" He shot another one before the officer in charge swung a hard gaze around the field, shouting something that neither Kastiel or Gault could understand. Kastiel snarled quietly at the soldiers, even though they were too far away to even possibly hear a word she said, "Just move closer to the bridge, just a little bit further. Come on!"

The soldiers yelled as they saw Khyriel and his tiny female rushing along the length of the bridge just then, neatly turning their attention from trying to find Gault's sniper fire. The soldiers were cursing shrilly enough even Kas and Gault could make out the anger in their invectives. They turned and chased after the Imperial duo, raising their rifles to fire bolts towards them as they raced out over the road. The officer was chanting into a commlink of some sort as he moved, probably calling for some kind of vehicular support. But then they reached the bridge and leaped up onto its surface.

Kastiel grinned, while Gault whooped softly there next to her. She gently depressed the button against the side of her handheld, until the first explosion blared out and shook the ground. All three pylons disappeared under the rush of chemical volatility, sending debris and Republic soldiers alike flying through the dirty air. They might have managed to survive, somehow, except that the chemicals polluting the water the already-flaming men landed into reacted badly. The entire surface of the water itself became a huge rolling ball of flame, with gouts of fire flying up into the air over the surface. The entire scene became a fiery mess of mewling, screaming men, all of them wiggling and jerking in the steaming water.

"Ouch. Remind me never to skirt through the flammable water on this world again, okay? And shit. I need to clean my pants!" Gault watched the gory spectacle with wide eyes. Kastiel looked away, leaning her head around Gault's frame to watch as Khyriel stopped along the roadway to consider the incident. She could see him frowning, before he turned and scanned the trees and bushes overlooking the road, obviously searching. Smart man, she thought, smiling. Kas patted Gault's shoulder, so that they both eased backwards out of sight. Gault grumbled as he moved, "Should just go down there and fucking introduce yourself, Kas."

"Little bit longer. Need to touch base with Artus first, let him know the target I'm going to make of my brother's family. Best he know Pella Hejaran is going to take a blaster bolt to the head, even before she does."

"Not like her branch of that house is all that notable. I swear it, Kas, no one's going to miss the bitch."

"Still has to be done right." Kastiel slanted him a snide little grin, knowing he'd appreciate it even if it was hidden behind her faceplate. "Sort of the way I broke her damn husband, the stupid sod. They still insist he was killed by mere thieves that broke into the estate that night. Idiots."

Gault shrugged as they hurried along the pathways towards the speeders. He muttered a disgusted sound as his boots squelched against the sodden ground under their feet. "Don't imagine there are too many people who would've been able to figure a sixteen year-old girl slowly and methodically battered that fat slob to death, actually." He scanned her figure slowly, as she walked there in front of him. He sighed. She really did have a nice ass. "Actually have a hard time picturing it myself. You don't seem the type to have fun killing a man."

"Wasn't fun. It was necessary. I made it hard, because he deserved it, is all." Kastiel stopped. She looked up at the sky, at the sooty-looking clouds that etched dirty paths across the way. Then she glanced back towards Gault, shaking her head. "You didn't _see_ Khyriel, the way they nearly killed him. If I'd been even a little later finding him …" They stopped as the ground shook hard under their feet suddenly. Gault grumbled sourly, "Why is everyone blowing stuff up today? I mean, I know why _we_ are. But it seems to be one damn explosion after another around here. Crazy."

She shook her head, grunting, "Too close to the Republic base. Wonder if the Imperials are making a move against Korvan's troops."

Gault followed her as she ducked across several tree-lined ditches to skirt quietly around an abandoned missile battery basically sinking into the soggy ground. Gault blinked as he looked at the massive piece of trash, wondering if it really would disappear into the soil. It would eventually, most likely. He shuddered at the thought of being swallowed up by this world. Gault glanced after Kastiel, grumbling, "Oh, well, sure. Let's go running _towards_ the dangerous mess, then. Why not? We've already blown up a bridge today. It's not like the Republic isn't going to be looking for us, or anything. Noooo."

"Shut up, Gault."

"You say that with love in your voice. No, no! No need to admit it. I can hear it."

Kastiel sighed with exasperation, darting a quick look at him that nearly sizzled. He held up a single hand in quiet surrender, grinning back at her. That's when they reached a slight incline that almost obscured a line of heavy smoke rising out of a low cave entrance. Gault grunted as he caught sight of the dark-haired Imperial holding the unconscious woman there on the ground in front of the wrecked cave opening, where clumps of soil and rock continued to fall. He gaped, "Well, just plain fuck. Seriously. What's the friggin' chance of this happening, huh? One in a million?"

Kas held up a single gloved hand, signaling him to quiet as she edged closer, listening to the gasping breaths her sister was loosing. Her mind was working fast, cataloging the severity of the injuries she could discern from this distance. Lusiel's shoulder was severely broken, most likely crushed. Her breathing was rough enough she had to have some kind of damage to her lung, probably both of them. Gault laid a hand against Kastiel's arm, until he had her attention. He pointed westward, and she looked. She nodded as she regarded the heat signatures from an approaching team. "Moving from the wrong direction. The Republic base isn't nearby there."

Gault nodded, "And too close to be your Sith's people, either. Someone's coming to make sure they're dead."

Quinn's head snapped up as they conversed, his face utterly pale, taut with pain, and speckled with the blood he'd coughed out over his chin. Kastiel clenched her jaw tight as she looked back at him, feeling a thrill of anger as she considered the man's injuries. He was dying, right there in the dirt. Fuck. That would hurt her sister. She knew it. Kas had spied on Lusiel for years, even as the tiniest girl child she could remember being back on Dromund Kaas. And the only single time she'd ever seen her older sister laugh out loud was when this man was holding her, back on Alderaan. She'd be damned if anyone managed to kill him.

Kastiel didn't take her gaze from Quinn as she edged carefully closer, watched him grip Lusiel tighter as he raised a shaking blaster in her direction. He coughed again, before spitting bloody phlegm out onto the ground. He glared towards her, holding her sister's dark head protectively against his chest. "Don't think ... I'll kill you if you try to hurt her anymore." Kastiel decided he was worth it, right then. Years later, huddled over a table as they shared drinks enough to become well and truly drunk, she'd even tell him so. But his effort to protect her sister, even at the expense of his own life - that won him her respect and her consideration, there in that moment. Her protection was already a given.

She leaned back onto the balls of her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. "How's that going to work if yer dead? Doesn't look like it will take too long, even. You're bleeding out, captain."

Quinn lifted his chin, "I'll last long enough to kill you. Believe me."

Kas glanced to the west, watching the motions of the approaching enemy. "Maybe. But not long enough to stop whoever's on the way." She grunted towards Gault, nodding. The Devaronian murmured, "Dead soldiers coming right up," and he turned to trot off into the distance, his rifle hefted up against his side. Quinn glanced after him but he kept his primary focus on the hunter in front of him. She carefully extracted her medical kit, knowing he was watching her carefully and that he'd recognize the container for what it was. Definitely not a minor bit of first aid equipment, the kit Kastiel carried was designed for someone with exceptional medical training and packed carefully to ensure it was ready for use.

Quinn muttered, blinking through the spots in his vision, "Why?" She could tell he was losing any semblance of coherent thought process. He jerked when an explosion sounded from nearby - Gault using the last detonators to destroy the bad guys, she knew - and he looked towards the location where Gault had bounded off towards. Kastiel spoke to him directly, "He'll make sure the bastards coming to finish you don't get the chance. Who did this?"

Quinn's blue eyes sharpened on her. "You don't know?"

"Nope. Last time I spoke to you was on Balmorra, captain. And you were a lieutenant then. You've come a ways, serving your Sith Lord, there, hmm?"

He glanced down at Lusiel, the way her head lolled back on her neck. He was swiftly approaching unconciousness, knew it, and feared. Pierce wouldn't reach them in time and he lacked the medical expertise it would take to save them, regardless. Quinn sighed. He'd have to depend on the hunter, even though he hated the mere thought of it. He pressed Lusiel closer to him, listened as she moaned softly in pain, and grimaced. "My wife. Baras tried to kill my wife."

Kastiel's eyes flashed with surprise and determination. She didn't make a smart-ass comment, however. Even if her sister's marriage to an Imperial surprised the shit out of her. "Heh. I don't know any Baras. I do know you. Why not let me keep you from dying there in the muck, hmm?"

"Lusiel ..."

"You first. You're more critical."

Quinn looked at her. Kastiel's face was still covered, but he remembered her from Balmorra. He knew she was human, with dark hair and eyes. He'd thought she was pretty enough, no matter the damage done to her face. And she'd made him laugh. Not that he'd allowed her to know it at the time. Now, though, he only wondered. "Why are you doing this?"

Kastiel shrugged, with pretended nonchalance. Like she didn't care. When everything in her was blaring madly in frantic, bitter anger, in fact. Lusiel was straining against her husband's body, crying out in pain even collapsed and insensible against him the way she was. Her breaths were rattled and shaky. Kas had a sudden image of Lusiel, years past in the Kaas City marketplace. The way she'd stood straight and curious as she regarded Kastiel herself. With the same eyes. Even then she'd been strong, powerful. That was her sister. Not like this. This was offensive to her. She looked at Quinn, though, only shrugging as she lied bald-faced to describe her reasoning, "Not a bad piece of work, getting a Sith to owe me a favor. Don't you think?"

The neat, simple rejoinder finally eased Quinn's concern merely by its familiarity. Greed for some kind of power, for some slim chance at security - even if it was called upon later - that was something any Imperial could understand, could appreciate. So Quinn inhaled slowly, deciding, and telling her so, easing back to lower the blaster so that she could come closer. "Internal bleeding. Crush injury, most likely. My side hurts," he said. Kastiel nodded, reaching out for Lusiel. She lifted the unconcious Sith off of Quinn, watched his eyes glitter as she lay her sister's head down against the moistness of the Quesh soil.

"In the dirt," he muttered. "Damn him."

"Utter bastard, yea."

Quinn looked at Kastiel as she settled down alongside him, to yank his uniform up to expose the great, glaring bruise that marred his skin, there. He spoke strongly, just one more time, "He'll pay for this. I'll be there when Lusiel guts him with her blade. I swear it." But then Quinn lost consciousness, screaming when Kas applied a pressor field device against his skin, using the pressure it made to halt the bleeding spots on his liver. She worked quickly but methodically, minimizing the pained distress to his system and halting his blood loss using surgical devices that didn't break the skin. There was no way she'd poison his tissues with the filth of the planet all around them. She grunted eventually, leaning back so she could look over her efforts.

"So he going to make it?" Gault leaned against his rifle as he looked down at her. He looked tired. And dirty. The fact he wasn't complaining about how dirty he was was testament to the sheer weariness beating at him, she knew. She still snorted at him, purely annoyed.

"Are you trying to say I'm no good at this?"

"Fuck no. Next time I need you to fix my ass, I'm hoping you'll actually do it, in fact."


	82. Chapter 81 -- Rendezvous

Gaibriel leaned over the side of medical table, mumbling to himself as he worked over the Mandalorian. The warrior twitched against the surface, hissing as he tried to find a more comfortable position and failed. Gaib raised a dark eyebrow when the man snarled several vivid curses - in Mando'a, of course - towards him, "Are you calling me names? I'm always looking for new insults, trust me. Or ... wait, maybe you're complimenting my good looks! You know, you wouldn't be the first Mando that did that. I have a way with Mandoes ..."

"Enough, _ner di'kut_. Such things are not open for discussion." Akaavi glared at the entire assembly of warriors there in the Medbay, moving her warning gaze in a wide circle all around the room. Gaibriel grinned as the rough-looking Mandoes all dropped their eyes before that look, grunting low sounds of agreement. He turned back to the wounded man on the table, while Akaavi grumbled towards him in her regularly dour way, "And it _was_ an insult."

"You insult me all the time, though. I rather like it, actually," Gaibriel twisted a grin in her direction, even as he waved another droid towards the injury he was smoothing adhesive gel over. Akaavi snorted back at him. But she wisely refrained from saying anything else, knowing he'd pick up any verbal gauntlet she tossed down and just run with it. Her captain seemed to delight in such exchanges, if only to see her blush. He told her that her blushes made her reddish-brown skin look "like a dark wine ... beautiful". She told him that testing her temper, rather, made _him_ a madman. He'd laughed, "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea. Let me show you how _mad_ I can be!" She'd rather enjoyed what he did then, actually, which made her blush, now.

Gaib smiled at Akaavi, a knowing look crossing through his eyes as she studiously examined the walls, the tables litered with broken warriors, the unijured Mandalorians who hunkered down against the walls, out of the way - anything but him. She glared instead at Gus, watching the poor shlub as he stumbled over one warrior's boot and began jabbering a wild bit of gibberish that was probably supposed to be an apology. Gaibriel laughed, "Gus, stop! Just get the bone stabilizer onto the green guy's leg. Pronto! He's starting to looked like a wilted Manak Leaf over there." Gaib grinned when Jagger shook his head, trying to wave aside the clumsy-looking Mon Calamari from touching his injured leg, and grumbling, "He'll break it even worse than that Republic soldier did in the first place ... look at him! He can't even walk straight!"

Gus reared back, affronted. "I'm a good healer! The Jedi said so, even after they kicked me out!"

Jagger gaped at him, "You were denied by the Jedi? Torian! Keep him away from me!"

Gaibriel chuckled as Torian began arguing between the two men in that slow, careful way of his. It was Torian's call that had brought the Freedom's Way to Alderaan, which he insisted to the Mandalorian was proof of the care he had for his sister. Because smuggling a troop of Mandoes off the world after they'd battled Jedi and Republic soldiers alike was pure brashness. He'd spluttered towards Torian on holo, "You know how many spaceports would be closed to me if it was discovered I got you off-planet?"

Torian had shrugged patiently, "Never took you for worrying over being caught. You _are_ a smuggler, right?" Gaib had smiled wide at the rejoinder, heartily amused. He kneeled down next to the Mandalorian leader, now, leaning over to examine the bruised line along the left side of his scalp as he considered the ease with which the Mandoes in his life made him laugh. Not always in the same way, mind you. He clicked his tongue at Corridan, "This looks like a lightsaber strike that didn't quite strike you."

Corridan smiled slowly, neatly hiding the pain he'd sat there struggling with as Gaibriel repaired the injuries to those who followed him. He'd refused treatment until his warriors were cared for, firstly. Honor demanded he provide for them, before taking his own ease. Bad enough he'd lost some - even a good friend had fallen during the battle - but he refused to lose even one more, not today. "Would have been worse, if Torian hadn't taken down the Jedi before he could finish it. He saved my life. Twice over, too, considering we got transport off-world because of him. I don't know you, even if he does." He looked at Gaib curiously, wondering why a Republic privateer would respond to a call from one of the Mando'ad.

Gaibriel glanced towards Torian. His blonde hair was mussed and stiffly dry with sweat and blood, his face streaked with dirt and grime, and his armor was now dented in several new spots. He looked tired, Gaib thought, especially when he snatched the stabilizer out of Gus' hand and declared he'd use it on Jagger's leg himself. The Mirialan skirted back against the table, whining, "Wait a minute! Maybe that's not a good idea, either. Shit! Okay, okay! I'm no _jare_, Torian, but I'll let the oaf work on my leg." He chuckled. Even exhausted, Torian was able to coerce the situation to a resolution. Pretty damn impressive, actually.

"_Kastiel_ knows me." It was the only thing Gaib offered the Mandalorian captain as he waved aside the tiny medical droid that blinked and trilled various signals he used to properly treat the injury there on his head. Corridan winced as Gaibriel applied the regeneration bandage across the broken area of flesh. The wash of medicine applied by another one of the smuggler's little droids, though, eased his pained distress. Corridan sighed in tremendous relief, easing back against the wall in a semblance of quiescent satisfaction as he considered. He wasn't completely aware, not with the drugs speedily working in his system. Which is probably why he only mumbled out the words, sounding curious.

"Not surprising, then. She'd ask someone she trusted to keep an eye out for her husband, hmm?"

Gaibriel's brows snapped tightly together in angry shock. He jerked to his feet, spinning around to glare over at Torian. He almost shouted, "You _married_ her without inviting me? Oh, I am so going to beat your ass, Tor!"

* * *

"Hello, my beauty." The man wasn't too young. He was human, with brown hair just starting to grey against his temples. Obviously wealthy. The coat he was wearing alone probably cost a good twenty thousand credits, at the very least. Kastiel eyed the garment shrewdly, wondering if Gault would like the garish thing. It was at least his favorite color - purple. She barely noticed the way the man angled his shoulders flirtatiously, except that she was better able to judge the twist and pull of his coat's threads. She idly wondered how to go about convincing the stranger to sell her the clothing. "My friends and I are enjoying a high-end celebration at the best casino and hotel here in Nar Shaddaa. Join us?"

Kastiel's gaze shot up from her consideration of his attire, to finally consider what he actually looked like. She knew she didn't look surprised, but only because she was too well-schooled at keeping her features particularly blank when it came to strange requests. "Do I look like I'd be even remotely interested in dancing up against a gambling table at a casino with you?" She actually tapped against the hard chestplate that covered her torso, strong enough to make for several pinging noises they could hear even over the droning calls of the prolific advertisements coming through the ever-present speakers.

She'd give him credit. He had gall enough not to drop his eyes or drag his heels in some kind of embarrassed shuffle over her blunt confrontation. Especially considering the snickers coming from his just-as-rich-looking buddies standing in a small muddled group just behind him. No, this one was bold enough he simply disregarded the refusal, as if he'd expected it maybe. He only lifted his shoulders in totally pugnacious tenacity, "Didn't think you had much else to do, since you're just idling here at the spaceport. I'm willing to pay, of course. I imagine people like you look for pay, when making any sort of arrangement."

Kastiel's brown eyes went even colder as she looked back at him. Mako called her name, from where she was standing nearby one of the spaceport vendors. But she didn't look over at the little cyborg just yet. Too focused on the nimwit in his pretty coat standing there in front of her. "Maybe you should clarify what you mean by 'arrangement', perhaps. You need me to take down a target at this spiffy casino of yours, then?"

He waved a hand in such a conceited level of disregard she very nearly curled her nose in disgust. "By the stars, no! I'm not at all interested in bloodsport of any kind. It's only my companions and I desire a certain level of accommodation this evening, rather. Something ... different, unique. Dangerous and spicy, even. And then I saw you, just as soon as we arrived! Fortuitous, don't you think?"

Kas shook her dark head, causing the little braid running along the side of face to fall against her soft chin as her implants twinkled in the flashing lights from nearby. He stopped to watch that small tuft of hair, which brought his attention once again to those scars running down from her cheek until they arched over, looping along the vulnerable expanse of her throat. There was a vivid tattoo there, just under the dark edge of her hair. Four burgundy-colored lines, like the trails of fingers along the curve of her scars. The art should have looked strong and tough-looking on such a female but the ink ended up looking ... possessive, maybe. Or protective even. The entire effect was intensely arousing, what with the discordant threads of danger, strength and power, along with pure feminine angst that he sensed in her.

But she only stared at him, her pouty lips curled up as if she was holding back a truly honest response that would expose her real feelings. He pursed his own lips. He hated it when someone didn't respond to him directly, when they spoke out of the corner of their mouths. When they lied to him. He got enough of that when he was home in Kaas City, that he didn't need to accept backstabbing nonsense at the resorts on this bedlam of a Hutt world, too. He'd be damned if he'd take any lies from a mercenary, especially. Not even the oh-so-polite white lies common in his experience, either.

But she didn't expose a single ounce of her angry upset. Kastiel only looked away, as if dismissing the man. And his request with him, to boot. "If it's a whore you're looking for, there are plenty to be had. Trust me, the Cartel has a goodly supply of females here on Nar Shaddaa willing to give you as 'spicy' an experience as you can possibly imagine."

"As I said, I'm looking for a more unique experience. I'd pay very well, believe me," he persisted. He refused to believe such a woman couldn't be bought. Any woman could be bought! Some were simply more expensive than others, is all.

She turned to look at him. He was able to see just past the fall of her hair that her implants stretched back towards her ears. Was she handicapped, he wondered. That sort of weakness could be exploited, maybe. There were so many devices that could incapacitate a cyborg's implants, anyway. If this one depended on hers for something as simple as hearing ... the possibilities swirled in his mind. "As I said, if it's a whore you seek, you should go find one. I hunt people down, rather. That's the only service I sell." She turned, then, nodding towards a small female standing against the edge of the taxi pad nearby a food vendor stall of some sort. That's when he made the incredidle mistake of reaching out to grab at her arm, yanking her closer to him.

"I don't think you understand ..." He started to threaten her. She didn't even know who he was, where he came from. She certainly had no idea how simple it would be to destroy her. Once she knew, controlling her would be so simple, so neat and easy. She'd be putty in his hands. But Kastiel never let him finish saying another word, though. Verbal insults she was willing to accept. After so many years of listening to cruel - and even remarkable, sometimes - taunts and jeers, she barely reacted to such things now. But she wouldn't tolerate anyone reaching out to touch her, to grab her with mean and belligerent intent.

Kastiel punched him. Suddenly. Hard and vicious. He stumbled back, so that his grip on her forearm loosened and he fell down with a plopping sound there on the floor, leaning back on his arms as his ass hit the ground. She glanced down with disgust at her arm, where she could see the sweaty imprint of the fool's fingers against the bracers that fit snugly around wrist. Torian had worked several kinks out of her bracers just before he'd left, in fact. It offended her this bastard had touched even that much of what didn't belong to him, of what Torian kept in decent shape.

The man was rolling around, sneezing trails of blood from his broken nose there against the floor. His friends were shouting at her, even though not a single one of them came closer. They were waving and calling for security guards to assist them, in fact. Not that such a possibility even vaguely worried Kastiel. Her reputation on the Hutt dominated world was fairly secure, and the two guards she could see - one a Gamorrean and the other human - were actually leaning against each other as they laughed and pointed over at the spectacle. They did respond to the shouting men, mind you. The guards waved at them with pretended friendliness. Then they called out a greeting towards Kastiel, "Drinks on us, champion! Thanks for the show!"

Which is probably why, when the damn fathead levered himself up onto his hands and knees, his head facing away from Kastiel, she used the opportunity to kick him rather solidly in his backside. No reason to deny the audience even more entertainment, anyway. The man tumbled face forward, bashing his already broken nose straight against the floor of the taxi pad. He hit hard enough that new spurts of blood washed out over the floor and he screamed out in terrible agony. The guards almost fell down, they were laughing so hard.

She crossed her arms across her chest, glaring down at her victim as he writhed there on the floor. Mako stepped closer, until she stood just aside Kastiel, munching slowly on the burger she'd been arguing with the food vendor over buying when the altercation began. She swallowed before saying anything to Kas, "Having fun?"

"Loads." Kastiel sighed as she glanced towards the spaceport doors again. "Was thinking of asking the guy, here, if he wanted to sell me that coat. But it's all bloody now, damn it."

"Yea, those stains would be a bitch to remove."

The stranger suddenly yelped out, "You'll pay for this!"

Kastiel turned away, "Hey, you wanted 'spicy' and 'dangerous'." For her, the entire incident was completely forgotten. A minor hiccup. She was far too focused on the spaceport doors, so that she ambled away from the injured chump she left sprawled in a heap there on the floor. Mako watched him flop over onto his back, sniffing back the blood coming from his nose. She negligently finished eating her food as the man's friends finally rushed over to help him climb back to his feet. He stood there, glaring balefully at Kastiel's retreating back as Mako laughed slowly and deliberately, which earned her her own terrible glare of enmity from the bleeding man. She laughed even harder, turning to leave. The man watched them go, yanking his arm away from his friends to stare daggers at the women's backs as they slowly meandered into the spaceport.

* * *

'You have to do something, aunt! The woman attacked me, for no good reason! If we allow such an insult, then others will think the Hejarans can be so ill-treated and new insults will abound. Greater insults, even!"

Pella Hejaran was bored by the request from her brother's last surviving son. She had little doubt there was more to Bayter's foolish telling, than that he bumped into a hunter coming out of the Nar Shaddaa spaceport and earned a severely broken nose in terrible response. It was hardly the first time he'd behaved stupidly and paid a painful price. She had a sudden memory of him as a younger man, arguing with her brother when he was still alive. "But, father! She was no one, dressed in a damn worker's outfit! How was I to know who her mother was? She didn't tell me that, just yelled no over and over again. You can't make me marry her!" Give her brother credit, he'd not backed down an inch.

Which is why Bayter was married to a woman he'd encountered and forced while she was working in her garden at her mother's estates. Damn woman persisted in digging her fingers through the dirt, even. She told Pella once that her plants provided her the "only peace I've ever known". Pella surmised it was the extract she used from working the plant leaves into an oil. One that Bayter was highly allergic to. He couldn't even touch his own wife without breaking out into the most gods-awful rash that itched for days. So he avoided her entirely, precisely as she intended, no doubt.

Pella sighed very dramatically, now, as she watched her nephew's holoimage pace agitatedly. If only she'd had children of her own. Surely they would've proved better than those her siblings had managed to push out into the world. "There are times, Bayter, that I wonder why my brother's children could fail so fantastically at the simplest tasks. You were to bargain with the Hutts for a new pleasure yacht. Yet this is the effort I am forced to expend today? Repairing some minor scrap you endured with a bounty hunter, of all things?" She leaned her head back, looking skyward as if for divine assistance. As if she'd ever actually believed in any divinity. "Maybe I should only look to Karen's children. Even Khyriel could manage something so simple!"

Bayter stumbled to a stop. He looked towards Pella with a cruel twist of contemplation, "That isn't a bad idea, actually. Surely one of my cousins would be able to find information enough about this hunter, this ... champion. That's what the guards said she was called - 'Grand Champion of the Great Hunt', whatever that is. If not Khyriel, with his military connections, then surely Lusiel. A Sith would be able to learn how to make this Kastiel pay, right?"

"What did you call her?" Pella's gaze was sharp, direct now. Bayter actually leaned back, as if distancing himself from the bitterness he saw in his aunt's eyes. Pella snarled, "This champion ... what's her _name_?"

* * *

**For anyone wondering, the Faradin family was distantly related to Lusiel and Khyriel through marriage. They are cousins of Pella's dead husband. Which means, yes, that Kastiel beat their cousin to death years ago. Ironic, I think, considering that Torian goes along to very nearly beat Major Faradin to death, too. After that incident, the Faradins contacted Lusiel directly. They never communicated with Pella Hejaran to describe what had happened. That makes this incident the first time she's heard Kastiel's name. **

**Well, since the day Kastiel received her scars and deafness, that is. She thought Kastiel had died.**

**Also, Hejaran is the name of a noble family that's part of House Mecetti, that ruled the Mecetti province in the Tapani Sector. Pella comes from a very obscure off-shoot of the House, one that's barely noticed by the more higher-up members of the family. The family is known for being very, very arrogant and outspoken as to their place. Which is pretty much why I chose that name for this role, lol.**


	83. Chapter 82 -- Jewl'a Nightbringer

_Anger rode her hard, the way those old myths said demons rode the backs of the souls they tormented. She burst from the cold alleys and corners of her world, to confront them all, every one of the blighted criminals and gang members who'd so mangled her young life. She reaped a path of destruction through them all, until men ran from her name alone, from mere whispers she was approaching._

_It was an Exchange boss who sponsored her into the Mandalorians' Great Hunt. She was good. Dark and dangerous. She allowed no one of her challengers to survive. She met all of them with her horned head upright, mocking and jeering them even as they died. Because she despised them - these Mandalorians with their damned code, their supposed honor. She hated them, for breaking her world, for loosing upon it the hunger and the deprivation that allowed the gangs to grow so strong. She hated them entirely, so that she met them with bitter retribution at every chance._

_But it was never enough. No one she beat, no one she overcame, no bit of vengeance she inflicted was ever enough. Even victory, even hearing them call her Champion. She remained that shattered girl angry at the entire Mandalorian universe, with all its pretentious honor-bound fighters. It didn't matter how much she spit at them, mocked them. It never made a difference, never made her feel better. She dueled them constantly, with never ending confrontations over the slightest offenses._

_In the end, she hated them because they didn't hate her back. She hated them, because they _honored _her._

_The fools._

* * *

They lopped off her left horn first. Oh, they tried to make it seem some sadistic game, like they enjoyed the effort. They even laughed as the blood ran down from her forehead into her eyes. It didn't matter, whatever taunt they sneered towards her, though. They didn't fool her in the least. She knew they were serious from the start, that their efforts were mere business to them. It was a job, with a very defined goal. Like they were trying to produce a careful product, and her pain was merely the process of going about the crafting. It's why they broke her fingers one by one, why they cut her with several shallow stripes - they were only determined to have her provide them their damn prize.

She wondered if they knew Zabrak handled pain so much better than most species. Probably. They were very professional, these killers. Not like the ones who'd destroyed her childhood. No, these men who'd kill her today were nothing like those lowborn slugs, those minor rats that came up out of the dregs when times were harsh and the people already struggled.

A sharp memory tore through her, the images blurring between her present and her past, until her own pain seemed so much like her mother's. She could almost hear her mother begging them to stop, to stop hurting her, to just make it stop. She could taste the blood in her mouth again, metallic and heavy, and she remembered the way she'd bit her lip as she curled there in the dark space under her mother's bed, bit hard enough that blood had filled her mouth. Her mother begged them and begged them as they broke and defeated her, and not one of them stopped. They hurt her and hurt her, until her cries finally became whimpers. Until she became so quiet and all those men snorted in disgust over her broken frame. She hid there in the dark alone, long, long after they left. Listening for her mother to make another sound. But there was no more. Her mother was gone, and she was left on her own. She was alone.

She'd survived the rats. She wouldn't survive these assassins.

She turned her head, now, ignoring them for the moment. She knew they wouldn't allow her to ignore them very long. But for the moment, she didn't want to think of them. She certainly didn't want to give them the satisfaction of hearing her fucking _beg_. Bastards. So she turned away, looking towards the brightly painted wall, the garish red color with its fancy wall hangings, the room where they'd been having such fun only hours before. And she caught sight of Bloodworthy, lying flat against the floor in a pool of his own blood.

There was irony in that, considering his name, she supposed, watching as the blood around his human head continued to spread. Didn't matter, that he'd fallen. He showed them why they called him worthy, no matter what they did. He showed them what it was to wear that stupid title of champion today. When they came bursting through the doors, it was Bloodworthy who reacted fastest, spinning into a crouch as he began firing towards their attackers. His first shot sent one of the agents reeling into the doorframe itself, hard enough the surface of wall around him cracked. Bloodworthy didn't stop firing, though. He'd managed to destroy nearly ten of the fuckers before they felled him with a blaster bolt to the throat.

She looked at his body, at the way his head was turned towards her. His brown eyes were dull and lifeless as he stared back at her. And all she could think of was the way he'd crowed of the newest champion, the way he'd called _her_ "worthy". He'd said, "You might have convinced me taking down Cadera was a chance thing - sheer luck. But Vause, too? No, Jewl'a. This one is as worthy as I am, mark my words." She'd sneered at him as he sang her praises. But deep down she'd admitted to herself that Kastiel Lok was the first Mandalorian she'd met that she actually _liked_. Even if she'd never say so out loud. To herself, she excused the sentiment, reminding herself Kastiel was only _adopted_, not born a Mando. She knew good and well it made little difference, not in the end.

They'd raged over Bloodworthy's body, remonstrating with the man who'd killed him. "Damn you! We needed him alive, to help convince her to give herself up! The only one left is the Zabrak! Fuck!" That was when she realized Defenestrator was gone, too. Stupid piece of junk proved as worthless as any one of them, herself included. Even if its explosions helped kill another half dozen of the bastards, even if her own pistols maimed and killed even more than that. How many of them were coming through the doors, anyway? Bah! Didn't change anything. They were all mere products in the crafting of one champion's destruction, it seemed. And wasn't that just her luck. To have come so far distant from that dying place of her mother's, only to die in a shit-hole of a world like Nar Shaddaa, surrounded by a bunch of bastards who only wanted to use her dying breaths to coerce someone she liked into dying. What a waste.

Figures it would be a Mandalorian that ended up being the death of her. She smiled at the thought. Circles. Everything moves in circles, always coming back around on itself. She sighed, blinking softly as she considered how close to dying she really was, if such maudling thoughts were spinning through her head. "If you find something amusing, by all means ... share." She blinked again, slowly. The voice was melodious, tempered carefully to cozen the weak-willed into believing the speaker could be convinced of mercy. She thought of telling them she wasn't so pliable a thing, to be broken so simply. Instead, she found herself telling them what she thought truly funny about the entire situation.

"You guys actually believe you're better than the Mandalorians you want to punish for killing your stupid Jedi. That this is some kind of justice. How fucking hilarious is that?"

And that's when they took the next horn from her head.

* * *

She pressed herself against his frame as she slept, curling into his chest like a little kitten. She even purred. At least that's what he liked to call the little humming noise she made in her sleep. He idly pushed a thick strand of her hair back from her face so that he could see her better, and he smiled when she pulled her plump lips into a mew of upset at the slight disturbance. She didn't wake up, though, and he wondered how difficult her sleep had been while he was gone, if his motions so barely bothered her now. He frowned, looking towards the soft skin under her eyes, beneath her implants, but her skin was its normal pale creaminess, all soft and delicious-looking. She didn't seem to be over-tired, no shadows lined her eyes.

Another one of those absurd kiosks slid by the window outside. Torian glanced towards the expanse of glass, bemusedly wondering how many of the floating advertisements existed in the city. He would have said he hated them, except that the things passing by provided the most incredible splash of colors over Kastiel's skin as she'd kneeled over his hips the night before. He'd clasped her hips in his hands, guiding her movements, thrilling at the way she ghosted creamy hues of red and blue and green there in the darkness. She'd finally gasped her satisfaction, her head tossed back as she cried out his name, accepted the way he gripped her hard, spilling himself, until she finally dropped down onto his chest. He'd held her, basking in her liquid warmth as he watched the colors dancing over the soft expanse of her back while she fell asleep there on top of him.

He nuzzled her, now, butting his nose against the hard implant tucked inside the shell of her ear. She drowsily murmured to him as she came awake, "Bloodworthy'll be pissed we're late again." Torian smiled, climbing out from the bed to stand nearby as he stretched through his morning exercises. He grunted, "Don't think he'll wait for us, though." Kastiel ignored his routine pointedly, worrying over the demands of time when what she really wanted to do was yank him back against the cushions. He chuckled softly as she leaned over the bed to retrieve her commlink. She yanked a tunic over her dark head and pulled soft trousers up over her hips before activating the device.

Tobie's holoimage took shape quickly, almost startling her. Kastiel frowned, wondering if Blizz had fiddled with her commlink recently. Probably. Blizz rarely allowed himself to be caught at it, but he spent countless hours "fixing" things. Never mind Gault's complaints the Jawa should be as meticulous at redecorating the ship as he was repairing it, either. Tobie grinned at her through the even-more-clear-now projection, "You slept. I knew the boy was good for something."

Kas actually blushed. "No need for stories about birds or bees, Tobie."

Tobie laughed out loud. "I certainly hope not, if you went and married the damn Mando. Your brother wasn't over-happy about missing the wedding, by the by." She noted the slight hesitation in his voice when he mentioned Gaibriel.

"Mandalorian wedding vows aren't shared publically. I'll buy Gaib a bunch of drinks, and he'll be fine. How'd your meeting him go?" Kastiel leaned forward slightly, betraying her concern. Tobie smiled at his fosterling, at the anxious frown that curled her brow over her dark eyes. It wasn't that she doubted his capability to ease her brother's angst when it came to anything remotely Imperial, he knew. And there was no hiding Tobie's Imperial origins. Kastiel's skill at miminalizing her accent wasn't one she could teach him, he'd finally insisted years earlier. No, she was only that protective of her baby brother, Tobie thought. Typical of her.

"He's ... unique, Kas. I don't know why I supposed he'd be more like Lucian. Hell, more like Khyriel, even. But he's completely different from the lot of you. Incredible. Although I'm not surprised he was able to survive. _That's_ the strength Lucian made in all of you." Tobie shook his head, his eyes turning liquid with regret. "I'm sorry. So many years looking for him ... I didn't ask, didn't have to. The Empire's a cruel world for a small child left to fend for himself. And Camiel ...?"

"He's looking into it. Apparently Jedi're worse than the Sith when it comes to family ties." Kastiel sneered, pulling her nose into a pugnacious twist. Tobie smiled wryly.

"Don't let your aversion color your view of all of them, Kas. Not now."

Kastiel shrugged, "Can't help but judge them by what they've shown me. And their damn lectures of justice and righteousness fall flat up against their actions."

* * *

Jewl'a coughed shallowly, pulling the blood back against her throat rather than spit it all over her chin. Although why she bothered, she couldn't say. She knew her face was saturated with the stuff, had long since lost count of the trails the blood made as it streamed down from her head. Still, she fought against gagging on the blood pooling in her mouth, swallowed heavily. Maybe it had something to do with impressing this bounty hunter one more time. She turned her brilliant blue eyes up towards the hunter's dark ones, stared at her. She snarled, "Fucking figures I'd die in the arms of a Mandalorian. Somewhere the gods are laughing their asses off."

Kastiel's mouth twitched. "I figure the gods are pissing their pants, rather. All of them are trembling at the thought of you invading their realms. You'll beat them into shape, Jewl'a." Jewl'a actually laughed, although the sound was roughly harsh. The Zabrak was trembling, shaking hard as she lay there on the floor with her bleeding head propped up on Kastiel's knee. But she met her death with the same steadiness she'd met every other challenge, her blue eyes wide open and ready.

She looked at Kastiel, almost spitting her words through blood-stained teeth, "They never saw you coming, the damn fools. Kept insisting I tell them where you were ... how to find you." She chuckled, "They wanted to know where you were from, even. Idiots don't even know that much. Isn't that worth laughing over?" Torian loomed over Kastiel's back, and Jewl'a glared up at him. All that traditional Mandalorian maleness and bullshit, she thought one last time. But she smiled as she caught sight of the bloody end of his electrostaff, all the same.

They'd killed the bastards. Damn poetic, that.

Jewl'a sighed, slanting her gaze towards Bloodworthy's broken body again. "They were ... my friends, hunter. That fucking Jedi killed my friends. They called him Master Seros ... You'll make 'im pay! Swear it!"

Kastiel nodded firmly, "_Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it_."

Jewl'a glared, "Stuff that Mandalorian shit. And swear!"

"I swear, Jewl'a," Kastiel barked back at her. Then she smoothed a single hand down the bloody curve of the Xabrak woman's cheek, carefully clearing away the trails of blood with her gloved fingers until her hand was bright, wetly red. She watched Jewl'a's fiercely glittering eyes slowly dim, listened to her gasping breaths slow. She held her, leaning back against Torian's firm legs. She sighed softly as the last of the Zabrak's spirit drifted away, slowly lowering her head down to the blood-stained carpet and climbing to her feet. She glanced around.

The once bright, gaily strewn room was now a smoking ruin. Several small flames still rose up from the sparking frame that was once the Defenstrator, in fact. Blaster bolts had pockmarked lines along the red-painted walls, while torn curtains fluttered against the shattered windows. Torian toed the body of one of the attackers, examining the features of the dead human's face, grunting, "Probably SIS. No uniforms. Nothing that marks them as Republic." He looked towards Kas, his gaze sharp and direct, "They attacked the _Mando'ad_, here, whether they managed to take you, or not. They were _our_ Champions. The Clans will scream in anger over this!"

Kastiel stood silently, carefully scanning the room. Remembering it all, every shape and sound, every smell there that she could detect. Then she activated the holoterminal, breathing slowly. "You wanted my attention. You wanted my notice. I'll not deny you what you want, not anymore. The fight you seek? I'll give it to you. My fight with you might be enough to keep every Mandalorian in the worlds entire drumming for your damn Jedi head. Maybe." Kastiel held up her hand, her blood-soaked palm straightly forward. "We call it _skira_. I seek vengeance on you. And unlike your twisted notion of justice, Seros, which you'll never have ... I'll get what it is I'm seeking."

* * *

... Gault tumbled into the pilot's chair of the Bad Boy, yelling out wildly, "Blizz! Get your tiny rodent's ass up here, we're leaving!" He fired the engines, all of them, barking into the comms that the ship was leaving dock. The trilling sound of Republic-accented commands filled the bridge as the Jawa scrambled through the door. He sang back to the angry voices, peeking through the viewscreen to watch Republic agents being angrily shoved back by Cartel security officers nearby the doors to the hangar, "I'm terribly sorry, but all the supplies of Booster Blue and Neutron Pixie I was marketing have since been sold. I'm grateful for your interest. Please check with me at a later date. Oh, and have a nice day!" He grinned wide, holding up his middle finger to wave at the Republic agents through the viewscreen as the Jawa maneuvered the ship out from the spaceport.

... Corso mashed the buttons of the navigating console as the Freedom's Way slowly rose and glided towards the spaceport doors. Mako leaned over his shoulder, close enough that her breath skittered against the lobe of his ear as she examined the galaxy map. He shuddered, muttering, "Always wanted to rescue you, you know. Never imagined I'd be saving you from a crazy-ass Jedi chasing you through the streets of Nar Shaddaa, though." Mako chuckled, glancing back towards the doorway leading to the main deck of the ship where she could make out Kastiel, pacing, "I still think it's sexy as hell." Corso stiffened, sitting there.

... "Hopefully, you'll receive this transmission beforehand, Cam. Your task is extraordinary, after all. Master Seros should have remembered that before he berated you for some supposed failure to take down the bounty hunter on Hoth. His efforts in that regard are troubling in their extremity, actually ..." Brye rubbed his aching forehead as he continued recording the communication, sighing. He glanced up when he noted movement out of the corner of his eye, watched Nadia's backside as she furtively skipped around the edge of the door. Steam rose from a cup set down on the surface of the desk closest to the door, he saw. He smiled slowly.

... Pella Hejaran snarled meanly as she considered the various reports and transmissions regarding the bounty hunter that her investigators had gathered together. Her thoughts were scattered, dark things. She'd already raged, tossing the tray holding the carafe containing hot caffa so that it sailed through the air to splatter over the back of one of her servants - some pale nobody of a girl. The scalded female had screamed shrilly for several thrilling minutes, the only satisfying moment of her long morning, actually. Now, Pella only seethed, glaring down at the reports that proved the brat her sister was supposed to have destroyed years earlier was very much alive. Not even the exhorbitant price on the woman's pretty black-haired head made up for the decade's old failure. She couldn't leave it to the chance some hired goon might fail again. No, she'd have to tread carefully, rather, into fooling her nephew into killing his mongrel-bitch of a sister ...!

... "Gault Rennow. That's the name of the Devaronian who matches that description, agent. Although he's not affiliated with the Republic at all. Mandalorians, in fact. He's a known associate of a Mandalorian bounty hunter, a rather incredible female. Their champion. Adopted daughter of the Mandalore himself, which would make her Clan Lok. Kastiel is her name. From all accounts ... not someone you want to antagonize."

* * *

**Jewl'a Nightbringer's story is best described in the "Star Wars: The Old Republic Encyclopedia". She was born on Coruscant, and barely survived the Mandalorian Blockade of her world and its aftermath. I've always supposed that's what made for her caustic attitude towards Mandalorians, basically. Hope I captured that feeling, here.**

**Several Mando'a terms and phrases:**  
**(1) _Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it _- "Truth, Honor, Vision", said when sealing a pact**  
**(2) _Skira_ - settling scores, revenge, or feud. Not just vengeance, more personal**


	84. Chapter 83 -- Black Listing my name

"_The victims of this attack included an envoy to Nar Shaddaa from the Jedi Order, Adeline Marr. A Knight renowned for her efforts to foment peace throughout the galaxy, Marr was on Nar Shaddaa to negotiate peace with the people of that world! This attack on her and her delegation was unprovoked. And uncalled for! She and her guards were brutally cut down, well beyond any hopes of healing. There were no survivors to emerge from that denizen of violence and cruelty, except for one - the perpetrator of the attack herself! She lured them into an ambush and then slaughtered them without remorse!_

_Do not be fooled! This bounty hunter is a cold, calculating killer. Her vile crimes against innocents on numerous worlds is well-documented! Citizens are warned, that to take action against this hunter is at great personal risk, and not a choice to be taken lightly. Rest assured, my office will support any of those willing to assist in the apprehension of this criminal. _

_Senators, I can not stress the priority we are putting to bringing the perpetrator of these violent actions to swift and ready justice. Put your fears aside - my finest teams are working to resolve this situation! It will not be long before we are once again safe from such barbarous cruelty_."

- Formal Address of Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, Dorian Janarus, to the Galactic Senate following the murder of a combined delegation of Jedi and Republic officials to the Hutt world of Nar Shaddaa by the bounty hunter known as Kastiel Cadera.

* * *

"Torian Cadera."

Torian breathed in slowly as he turned around. The light from the central fire of the _Oyu'baat_ reflected off Artus' armor, casting it nearly red-gold as he loomed there over their table. He'd crossed his thick muscled arms across his chestplate, so that he ended up looking like some great stone-faced statue that stretched high over a man's head. Torian lowered his cup down to the table, with the sweet nutty-flavored Black Ale still half filling the inside, although Gault took it as opportunity to refill his own cup. Blizz stopped hopping up and down trying to see over the surface of the table, staring up at the menacing figure of the large Mandalore. And the loud conversations all around them - even the raucous calls and jeers coming from the gathered warriors arguing nearby the holoscreen depicting the latest bolo-ball match - all of it gradually tapered off into an expectant silence, as the varied Mandalorians all stopped to watch Artus Lok greet him.

He hoped it was a greeting, anyway. Kastiel had only smiled when Torian wondered whether Mandalore would be angered she'd married him. "Bah! Just don't let him talk you into a drinking match when you see him. And don't let him tell you he won that one during my _Gai Bal Manda_, either!" Torian didn't consider the meeting so casually, though. And he could feel his stomach knotting steadily as he came to his feet there in front of the man his wife called _buir_. Not that he feared losing her. The thing was done, Kastiel was his. But he never wanted to see the pain of insult in her eyes again, the way she lifted her chin as if she didn't care even though the chocolate of her gaze went dull and lifeless when someone questioned her worthiness. He especially didn't want to know it was his name that caused insults which caused that look on her face.

Artus' acceptance was essential, he thought, as he stood up. If he withheld it ... But the Mandalore only nodded at him, sliding his gaze in obvious judgment up and down Torian's frame. He twisted a wry grin towards Gault, who used the tense moment as an opportunity to belch loudly. Several guffaws were choked back. Artus chuckled, "There are times I wonder why she offered you a place on her ship. And then you amuse me and I do appreciate your value."

Gault gasped. "Are you saying my sole purpose on this crew is for sake of entertainment? I'm crushed."

"No, actually. I would never call it your _sole_ purpose. My own _ad_ isn't one to accept any but the most exceptional to fight alongside her, actually." Artus' chin lifted proudly as he looked back at Torian, "Look at the man she's chosen to call husband, after all." Artus hefted the pack he was carrying, holding it out towards Torian. He inclined his head, gesturing to the pack. "I've made you a chestplate, Torian Cadera. To match the one I made for Kastiel. Will you wear it?"

Several murmurs flitted through the taproom. Torian felt the pleasure of it, of that acceptance - he felt it sliding through him. Like drinking something warm and wonderful, that melted into your insides. "I'll paint it myself," he said, reaching for the pack. The Mandalore grunted, "I'd be pleased to help. Getting the tints right can be hard without a second pair of eyes."

Torian glanced at him, and he smiled carefully, "Smart man doesn't piss off his woman by asking for help from anyone else first." Laughter erupted, as several men called out wild exclamations, spiced with plenty of words of advice. The women only cheered loudly, called him a smart man and insisted the other men follow his example. Their acceptance, their willingness to see him, to include him among them - Torian felt it settle in him, a certain assuredness that he _belonged_. But he didn't say anything. He only relaxed into the understanding, that his name was no longer a burden to be carried, a thing that held him back. Artus understood, watching him. He smiled at the younger Mandalorian, "So let's see if you can hold your ale better than she can, heh. A challenge! We have friends stolen from us, that deserve our celebration and remembering. Let's drink!"

* * *

"You've ruined it! I can't see him, damn you!"

Kastiel shrugged lightly as he stalked towards her, padding on quiet, silent feet. She glanced down towards he soft soles of his padded leather boots. He wasn't so thin anymore, had filled out quite well actually. New muscles in his legs and chest spoke of a healthy diet - as if he enjoyed spicy food, too - and the glowing tan his skin boasted of proved the number of hours he spent outside under Mandalore's sun. His black hair was thick and lustrous, even if he did keep it cropped short around his ears and well above the lower line of his neck. She wondered over his incredible mending, actually. Until he showed practically no signs at all of the years and years he'd spent confined in the cold hell of an Imperial prison. On Nar Shaddaa, to boot. Not natural, she thought.

He was still yelling at her. In that oh-so-quiet way of his, that is. "You had no righ...!"

Her head snapped up as she glared suddenly, holding out a single pointed finger as she yelled back at him. Her yelling, though, was not so quiet. The sound of her angry voice reverberated against the nearby walls of the office where he worked, in fact. The Mandalorian warriors who spent their hours and days maintaining a watch over him actually leaned back closer to the walls, as if trying to distance themselves from the bitter exchange. "Don't you dare finish that statement, Xavyer! I swear it, if you ever - ever! - tell me I have no rights where my siblings are concerned, I'll beat the ever living shit out of you! He's _my_ brother!"

He stopped in the center of the room, clenching his hands into fists as he stared down at the floor. Not from any guilt or remorse, she knew. And certainly not from fear or anxiety. He wasn't the sort of man to feel things normal human beings would, after all. He'd never said so, and she certainly hadn't asked. But it was clear he wasn't the product of any real family. If she had to guess, she'd say he was produced in a lab just as much as her tiny cyborg friend was, and she certainly didn't care. If he had implants like Mako did, though, they were quite well obscured from any natural perception. And he never responded to overtures or threats in any characteristic manner, so that she'd learned the careful means of navigating his natural tendencies, such as they were. He spoke slowly. Low, so that only she could hear him. "I ... care for him."

Kastiel frowned at him. When he'd told her to call him Xavyer, so that he "could have something of a real name for once", she'd conceded there was more to the man than the rote robotic tendencies he'd shown her when they first met. She had little doubt this newest admission was just as much a manipulation as his name had been. An effort to coerce her into relaxing her regard of him. She nearly told him so, that she saw through his small game. But she bit back the recrimination in time enough. Instead, she only snorted at him, "You don't strike me as a man who'd mistake love in some minor act of sex."

"Please, hunter. As if I would ever be such a fool as that." He spun on his heel, moving towards one of the nearby consoles when its buttons began blinking in steady synchronization. He spoke to her over his shoulder, "This has nothing to do with any sort of fondness on his part, either. I imagine I could lie dead and bleeding at his feet, and he'd barely notice except to step over me. It simply doesn't matter. I needed to care about something, and he walked in the door. That's all there was to it, really."

"You are perhaps the strangest man I've ever known, X." Kastiel sighed as she stood there, staring at his back while he leaned over to work at the console. He murmured some sort of agreement.

"Of that, I have no doubt. Although I imagine you'll meet even stranger sorts as you go along. I could even describe them to you today, mind you. It's hardly like they'll stay hidden forever, especially as they've begun watching you. You're very worthy of attention, Kastiel Cadera." He angrily tapped against the console, "But I won't tell you of such things. Not when you've shut me out from watching him. Damn you! How did you even manage such a thing?"

"Your devices were rendered moot easily enough."

"But how?" Xavyer canted his head to the side as he considered the puzzle. It didn't take him long, she knew it wouldn't. She stepped closer as his head came up and he turned around to face her again, the understanding filling his gaze as he looked over at her. "Gaibriel Duncan. I wasn't certain you'd be able to convince him to act in defense of his brother, actually. He's decidedly antagonistic to the Empire. You should see the reports on his motions that I've been privy to. He's quite nearly as fascinating to watch as Khyriel."

"Brothers."

The word was rich with meaning as she spoke it, he realized. Not for the first time, he marveled at the meaning she put to such bonds. That they all seemed so similarly intent was extraordinary, though. As if learning they shared the same father was all it took. Just that much, and all other loyalties, all other ties became secondary. Friends and lovers alike were simply gathered up into the bond, as if they were extensions of whatever sibling they were close to, in fact. He'd never seen the like, not in anyone he'd observed and monitored over all the years he'd watched. It was far, far from ordinary, he realized. Almost ... manufactured. Much like this little gambit of theirs had been, too. "Gaibriel created the means to neutralize my device."

"Of course. It was delivered during a confrontation on Hoth. I wasn't sure you'd miss it. That was our only real concern."

"That's why you didn't activate it."

"No. It wasn't activated, because your assistance ... your guardianship, if you want to call it that ... it was still necessary. That changed after Quesh."

"It could change again. Then you'd need my help again, would you not?"

Kastiel only shrugged. But the message was clear enough. He knew his device was still in place, even if the signal he received from the thing was deathly silent. It's why she'd kept him in place, here in the city of Keldabe, surrounded by troop after troop of Mandalorians, why he'd been given access to machines and holoterminals galore, even. He'd wondered at one point if he could claim to be free in such a place, when he couldn't take a single step without some warrior looking to see where he was going and what he was doing. But he was never denied a chance to enjoy the splash of sunlight on his face or the pleasure of food, drink, or company when he wanted it, either. He'd actually decided no man was ever really free. This place offered as much freedom as a man like him could ever hope for, honestly. And if he became necessary at some point in the future, he'd be ready enough. He waved a hand towards her, "You didn't come here to ask after my welfare, though."

Kastiel gripped her belt with one hand, tapping against the handle of her blaster with a slow habitual motion. "I need you to tell me everything you can about a Darth Tormen, actually. He's requested a meeting with me."

* * *

"_Tormen's only real passion lies in war. He's ruthless when he engages an enemy - don't expect any respect for them from him. For him, it's all about breaking, utterly crushing anyone who tries to oppose him. He has no bit of tolerance for weakness, no patience for your politics or ideology. For him, it's all mere claptrap, noise that keeps him from annihilating anyone and everyone who gets in his way_."

Kastiel watched the Imperial ships taking shape through the viewing screen. Torian stepped closer, until his chest very nearly brushed against her back. She unconsciously leaned backwards into him, looked over her shoulder at him, "I need you on the turrets, Tor. Keep the targeting computers on standby." Mako glanced back at her from the pilot's seat, frowning.

"Thought you felt good about this, Kas. Think this is a trap?"

Gault chuckled, "If it is, we'll make the galactic record, here, for going from hyperspeed to space dust."

"So not funny, Gault, sheesh."

Kastiel held her hand out. Her mind was working fast, tumbling through the various possibilities for this particular Sith to ask for a meeting with her, with Xayver's intel uppermost. Tormen was dangerous, hands down. There was zero chance he was throwing her some sort of bone, here, she thought. Her only hope was that he had some use for her. A job, maybe. And she mentally crossed her fingers as she considered what it might be, looking over towards Torian as he bent over the targeting systems. Damn the Jedi, she ground her teeth. Everyone important was at risk, here. All of them, as she watched Mako chewing on her lower lip with worry. "Not sure what the hell's up, here, Mako. I'm just being careful, is all."

Torian looked over the Jawa, gestured with his upraised chin. "Blizz, get the shields."

Blizz rushed towards the console, chattering, "Oh! Get to try out modifications now." Kas frowned over at the tiny figure, watching as Blizz got down on all fours to tinker with the wiring under the terminal. He continued chattering as he worked, pointing out all the changes. She turned towards Mako.

"When did we get work done on the shields?" But Mako only shrugged, looking utterly bewildered.

Blizz glanced back at Kastiel over his little shoulder, "Blizz make lots of improvements to Boss' ship. Make thermostat work right, add stool to refresher and sink, retune shield emitters. Lots of stuff!"

Kastiel bit her lip subtly. "You put a stool in the refresher?"

Blizz nodded his hooded head. "Very important! And galley, too!"

"Definitely important." Kastiel ignored Gault's tired complaint about Blizz' hygiene. She glanced back to the Imperial battle cruiser that was looming even larger the view screen in front of her, rather. She remarked, "Well, they're not shooting at us yet. So far so good. Mako, follow the flight path they've transmitted. We'll dock where they tell us." Torian came to his feet slowly, rolling his shoulders as he stepped up alongside her. He raised his hand, touched her jaw softly as he leaned close enough to whisper her name. She watched as he pulled his gloves on, then, before glancing one last time towards the view screen.

"_Don't think Tormen's dislike for subterfuge, that his tendency towards directness is any kind of honor. He desires only that his enemies be forced to submit, that they're completely crushed and demoralized. He'll use whatever means he has at hand to obtain such ends. There's no care, no concern in him. Not for anyone. Don't mistake him, hunter. He'll destroy you in a heartbeat, and care nothing for it._"

* * *

**I've never really understood the scene in the bounty hunter story where the crew worried where they'd go after being declared "Most Wanted" by the Republic and publically disavowed by the Empire. As Mandalorians, there was always Mandalorian space to hunker down in, after all. I decided I'd make Mandalore itself the scene for Kastiel's retreat, here.**

**The planet of Mandalore is the fifth planet from the sun in the Mandalore system. It was covered by dense natural forests, with its primary industries being farming and mining. Its capital city is called Keldabe. The city was an eclectic array of buildings situated on top of a flat granite hill. At its center was the _Oyu'baat_, a large cantina and hotel that Mandalorian clan leaders throughout history used as a meeting place over the years. The New Mandalorians would later proclaim the domed city of Sundari to be the capital of Mandalore. But Keldabe remained an important center of Mandalorian politics, such as they were.**

**Kastiel will eventually look to Keldabe as "home" more than any other place.**


	85. Chapter 84 -- Puzzle Pieces

The girl scampered in front of him, trembling so hard she was practically stumbling in her haste. He eyed her backside thoughtfully, wondering if she'd be worth the effort of calming. Then he glanced around through the familiar rooms they were moving through. He snapped his gaze back to the girl's curves, though.

Definitely worth it, he decided. Better to consider the flexing muscles of a sweet little ass, than the place around him, anyway.

She stumbled hard, suddenly, almost tripping herself over the edge of one of those damned carpets his aunt delighted in scattering all around the floors. He snatched at her elbow, though, catching her before she fell into a terrible heap facedown on the floor and probably bleeding. She reared back, shaking in incredible fear. "Sor ... sorry, my lord. Please!"

"Hush." He smiled, waving a single hand against the title she offered him. He wiggled his fingers in front of her, laughing softly, "I leave it to Sith to toss lightning from their fingers. Call them 'my lord'. Not me." She frowned. He wondered what she endured in this household, that even his careful humor failed to soothe her angst. An absurd question, though. His own memories of the place were ... difficult. Surely the experience of some insignificant girl, here, would be far worse. Vector shifted almost imperceptibly, only enough to remind him of his presence. To remind him he wasn't on his own, here - that he wasn't alone.

"_I don't understand, agent. They are your family, are they not_?"

"_Rather, they're the ones I used during my childhood to avoid starving_."

"_I see ... no, I still do not understand, actually_."

"_Well. That's good, at least_."

He actually smiled as he remembered the conversation during the walk up to the house's entrance. He shrugged softly at the girl, now, "Only show us the way, little one." She eased. Her relaxation was easily perceptible, as he considered the sweet-looking lines of her shoulders and neck softening into pretty curves. Definitely worth it, he thought. If he was forced to spend the night here, she'd make for a pleasurable enough distraction. His aunt totally ruined it, of course. The girl actually spun around and ran when Pella suddenly scolded him from the nearby doorway.

"Khyriel. You were asked to attend, here, some days ago. And here I find you, dragging your feet even as you arrive. Mooning over a mere bit of flesh, in fact. Typical."

His smile disappeared. He straightened slowly, pausing only to glance towards Vector very subtly, inclining his chin. Vector nodded as he stepped back into the shadows and Khyriel turned around to face his mother's sister. She was small, of course. Like his mother had been, like his sister was. Not that he'd ever say so to Lusiel, either.

But Lusiel was dark, her long silky hair as black as a moonless sky and her eyes huge and brown, like her father was. Pella was so much like her sister they could've been twins, rather. So much so, in fact, that he thought of his mother every time he clapped eyes on her. He was gratified to see that Pella was beginning to show signs of her age, at least. Her sunshine blonde hair was slowly turning grey. But her eyes were still large and round, gorgeous eyes. He would've called them blue, except they were so pale to be almost silver. He'd thought many times it was the glamour of beauty like that which had probably convinced his father to marry anyone from this cursed family.

Which, of course, made it a particularly salient bit of life lesson, he'd long thought. That, behind the most beautiful face could lie the most obscene bit of rot and filth. Don't trust in outward appearances.

"I hardly need to remind you of those obligations which occupy my time, aunt."

She frowned at him. He noted she didn't invite him inside her office. He mentally sighed, if only because it was the best hint of all that whatever she wanted was going to offend him somehow. She avoided taking him in there when she wanted to cozen him in some way, when she was looking to wheedle something from him. And that room always put him on the keenest edge, the memories of the space were so cruel. "This is family, Khyriel. We are hardly an obligation. And your ... what is it you call him, this servant of yours? He's not human, is he?"

Khyriel snorted softly. "I sincerely hope you didn't command me here to play at some illusion of care between us, aunt. Obligation has been the only thing to bind us in all the years of my life, here. That hasn't changed. And Vector is a Joiner, with the Killiks. A rather unique species, Killiks. He's no servant of mine, trust me."

"I hardly think this discussion should be conducted in the presence of ... whatever he is to you. It could prove rather embarrassing for you, nephew."

"Vector has seen me in any number of incredibly embarrassing circumstances. I'm hardly worried over that chance today." He grinned as he recalled some of the more interesting moments involving Vector's rather unique commentary. The Joiner amused him. Which is precisely why he'd asked him to accompany him today, too.

"He's not family, though."

Khyriel sighed loudly. "More illusory nonsense, aunt? Truly?"

Pella's lips thinned into the finest line. It wasn't the first time she'd looked at him with disgust. She'd always despised his refusal to play along with her tired allusions, her pretty expressions of familial bonds. Always when in public, when others were nearby to see, of course. Their private dealings were so much different. Her lessons, the ones designed to teach him "how to behave properly", as she'd called them, had been quite more elaborate, even, than his mother's. Of course, his father had shielded him from Karen's mad depravities. The chance Lusiel might discover it protected him from much of Pella's, too. Not all of it, though. He'd had to grow old enough, strong enough that she was no longer able to direct him, rather.

But he continued to prod against her sensibilities, a tired game they still played, and it frustrated her all over again now, too. He smiled at her, even. Because he knew exactly how much it bothered her, of course. She clenched her fists, "Enough. You're needed."

He leaned his head back in dramatic tiredness. "Trust me, I know that. As I recall it, the phrase went something like, 'If you weren't so neccessary, you'd be tossed outside these doors, you ungrateful little wretch.'"

"You were lucky."

"That phrase was used regularly, too, yes."

He smiled tightly when she started pacing, only because she was purely incapable of physically confronting him. Not like her damn husband was here to do it for her, either, he thought. Not anymore. He owed a sincere debt to the man who'd killed the bastard, too. Pella stopped suddenly, turning on her heel sharply. "I've found who killed your parents."

Khyriel went still, his acerbic smile sliding from his face as he looked at her. The subject of his parents' deaths was hardly a comfortable one. But more it was a subject he'd never discussed with his aunt. Unless you counted the number of times she'd insisted that if he'd only been a better son to them, maybe they would've been spared the argument that resulted in them dying. "And here I thought she was found years ago. Lying in a broken heap at the base of the tower we called home."

Pella glared. "Don't speak of your mother like that."

"She whelped me. I can speak of her any way that I choose."

"How dare you!"

"Would you like me to teach you how it's done?"

Pella would have once claimed knocking Khyriel off-balance, enough he couldn't maintain the sardonic effusiveness of their ordinary exchanges, would prove a pleasant achievement. Except now she was discovering his sharp, bitter wit could be far more mean and terrible. She snarled under her breath and returned to pacing. "Your mother spoke to me. More than she did your father, I imagine. You can't know how difficult it was for her, the choices she was forced to make. To preserve _your_ family, _your_ rights."

"She cared for me as much as you did, aunt. Which hardly says much." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "She killed my father, she killed herself. There is nothing we need to discuss, here."

Pella waved her hand in front of her, twisting her lips derisively. "Please. Whatever you saw that night was nothing but the broken understandings of a small child. In fact, there was a woman ..."

"Any man with sense has _a woman_! My father, oh of course, was a man with some sense. Much unlike my mother, mind you."

"Shut up!" Pella was agitated enough she actually stepped closer, actually raised up a fist as if to strike him. He blinked at her as she came to a halt, there. She breathed, tried to gather herself once again, inhaling harshly before barking out the words. "She was going to expose the entire debacle, your father's indiscretions. She was going to tell them all how weak he was, force them to acknowledge her damn by-blow children. It would've ruined us all! Karen did the best she could to stop it, to get rid of them. But that damn chit of hers, the oldest one ... she survived! It's unbelievable!"

Khyriel froze, his mind working incredibly fast, whirring like the computer he'd long imagined it to be. His eyes were like stones in his face, like some sort of galvanized obsidian rock. He stared at her, pausing such a while she wondered if he'd actually lost consciousness standing there. But he murmured, finally, "Survived what?"

Pella choked out a laugh, "They ran, of course. Tried leaving the planet. Who knows where they would've gone, tried to hide. They would've come back eventually, of course. Your mother had to act fast! She found some men and set them to the task."

"She was made deaf, the implants ..." Khyriel mumbled as he glanced away, looked towards Vector standing there, still and silent against the wall. The Joiner lowered his chin, subtly, assuring the agent he understood. They'd found the piece, that bit of the puzzle which had stayed only just out of reach. Her name had managed to find him the place she was born, anyway. Because it matched the name on his father's financial records. That, and the article describing the "incident" in which she'd been injured, of course.

But the 'why' of it had eluded him. Although as he looked back to watch as Pella returned to pacing, he felt like hitting his forehead at the incredible simplicity of the truth. How could he have been so stupid? Pella was muttering, "You've got to handle this, Khyriel. Think of the damage! To your sister, if it becomes known, if anyone finds out ... and the estate ... she can make claims! Think of how much wealth we could lose ..."

Khyriel bit his tongue against the curses he wanted to spit at her. Wanted to hit her, he was so frustrated. But he needed more information. She was still useful, he reminded himself. "You said children, aunt. Not only one."

She shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "The other two are gone, at least. They probably died along with their damn mother there at the spaceport. There were so many bodies, anyway. It hardly matters, mind you. What matters is getting rid of the problem at hand." She stopped, clasping her hands in front of her as she turned to face him. "Now. I've hired a hunter, a professional. He's considered a true artist of his work, so he'll find her, I know he will! You are to ensure it's finished once he locates her."

Up against the wall, Vector moved. Only the most slow and small impressions of motion. He emerged from the shadows, crossing over to stand just behind the agent. He'd watched the agent carefully throughout the exchange, judged every nuance of his aura as the conversation progressed. He scented it, there - saw it in the flaring power of Khyriel's aura. He knew, as Pella couldn't, that Khyriel was fast losing control of the rage filling him. They were real friends, he and this agent. He'd been the only one, in all the months the agent struggled, who'd asked him what was wrong, who'd endlessly queried and questioned and prodded. They didn't need words, had reached a point they communicated so much in the merest glances, the most subtle inclinations of a head or shoulder, mere brief shifts of weight.

It's why Khyriel looked over at him, now, why he nodded firmly and knew that Vector would understand. They were leaving. Before he took an action that might prevent them from making some further use of her in the future. He looked back at Pella one last time, held out his hand, "Give me the man's information."

"You'll fix this!"

"Of course I will."


	86. Chapter 85 -- The Hunter

_Torian shook his head as he lifted a single one of Corso's black braids out from the cup where it had fallen and started to soak. "You misuse the _ne'tra gal_. Or you hope to take it with you, in your hair. Not sure which."_

_Corso lifted his head from the top of the table where he'd laid it down wearily, rubbing a single finger along the side of his temple where the steady throbbing was most persistent. "We there yet?"_

_Torian was confused. He leaned his head to the side as he regarded the wide open space of the _Oyu'baat's_ main taproom. The fire in the center of the room had burned low as the hours passed into the latest nighttime but a young human dressed in simple civilian clothes was right then pushing the burning embers back into shape once again. Several warriors continued downing ale against some of the tables on the far side of the room, too. "Were we moving? We weren't supposed to leave till tomorrow, right?"_

_"No. Pretty sure we're spinning around. My head feels like it."_

_Torian grinned at the pained expression on Corso's face, "Don't underestimate _ne'tra gal_. There's a reason Mandoes like it."_

_Corso glared at him. "Cause it knocks you on your ass?"_

_Torian nodded emphatically. "Of course. If mere ale knocks you down, imagine what will happen when an enemy strikes against you. Never accept an easy course. It's challenge - from everything around you - that makes you stronger."_

_Corso stared at him, bemused. "And it's that important to be strong? That even the joys of life have to be a challenge? I swear, I'll never understand Mandalorians."_

_Torian became serious again, turned his head to regard her - what he'd wanted and claimed for his own, would never give up, would fight for, forever. His own. Kastiel was sitting in a hard, tall-backed chair she'd pulled close to the large windows that stretched up from the floor all the way to the ceiling of the main room. Her own cup of ale sat discarded on the table in front of her as she sat quietly staring out at the late night sky over Keldabe. Artus shot his hand over from where he sat in his own chair next to her, to grab for Kastiel's cup. He ignored her yelp as he hurriedly drank down the last of the ale in the bottom, before yelling loudly, "I won again! Hah!"_

_Torian's gaze turned golden, flaring heatedly as he regarded the laughter Kastiel shared with the Mandalore as they sat there together. She celebrated, so that the mourning which had marked their time at Nar Shaddaa slowly passed. It was good, to hear her laughing again. He glanced back at Corso, lowering his chin as he responded. "A Mandalorian's strength is everything. We protect, we provide. For the clan, the _aliit_. We wrap ourselves in strength, because when we don't, when we won't ... that's when everything's taken away from us." He looked back at Kastiel again, and he vowed, "And I can't let that happen."_

_Corso hiccuped loudly all of a sudden. Torian watched as he flushed red with embarrassment, as he dropped his eyes down to look into the bottom of his cup. "Sorry, then. Bout not being able to handle ... what the hell did you call this stuff again?"_

_"_Ne'tra gal_. Black ale, in Basic."_

_"Ahhh. Yea, right." Corso glanced at the stairs that lead up and out of the room, grimacing as he considered the effort it would take to traverse the way. He sighed dispiritedly. "Torian, tell me something. You think of Mako like she's part of your ... _aliit_?"_

_Torian stared at him for a moment, studying the twists and curves of Corso's face. He had rough features, scars that marked some hard knocks as he went along the way. But he retained a steadiness, a powerful sort of loyalty that Torian admired. "Make it a point not to prod my wife's temper, Corso. And she loves Mako, like she might a young sister. If you're asking if I'd protect Mako with all the strength I have to offer, the answer's yes."_

_And that's when Corso finally looked satisfied, as if whatever burden he'd been carrying that had him downing ale like the coolest water was freed from him. He even smiled at Torian. Right before his face went slack and he toppled forward so that his head hit the surface of the table with a loud bang, and he proceeded to snore. Loudly._

* * *

Parson had seen a Mandalorian man, once, moving through the crowds of the marketplace in Kaas City. He'd been a big tough-looking figure of a man, his face covered wholly by a helmet so that his race was hidden away out of sight. But his gloved fingers numbered five total, so he'd assumed the man was human enough. It was the boy, following along behind him, that had truly fascinated him, though.

The boy was human, with deeply dark skin and large black eyes sunk deep in his young face. He'd thought him to be nine or ten years-old, only because he was nearly the same size as he himself was at the time. The boy was dressed simply, in basic fighting leathers. He didn't wear a helmet to cover his black-haired head. But he sported a long-handled dagger that hung low against his hip and when the man stopped to consider a weapons-vendor's wares it was the boy he pointed to for the purchase of a new blaster. He'd asked his own father about them, curious.

"_Mandalorians thrust weapons into their children's hands pretty much as soon as they can walk, actually. They don't think of family like you and I do, don't respect any planet or space as if it were home. It's what makes them so lacking, in basic decency even. In sheer manners! They're a brash, insolent people. They live only for the fight, for the next chance to beat on someone they consider an enemy. And that's usually the person you pay them to call enemy, mind you. Because they don't believe in anything_!"

Parson thought of that day as he watched the bounty hunter step through the hangar doors, watched her stop in front of him with the curve of her chin thrust up in near arrogant tenacity and her booted feet slightly apart in what he recognized as a firm fighting stance. She placed herself deliberately, in fact, standing between him and the soldiers who followed him and her own people. Like a protective shield, maybe. She might as well hang a sign around her slender neck, intoning, "Only through me, assholes." He felt insulted suddenly, actually. Like she was deliberately offending every idea and concept he'd maintained about Mandalorians, just in that one single look she offered his way.

Who was this creature, this wild thing that thought herself so much as good as the best Imperials marching to meet her? Didn't she appreciate her position, here? She was the supplicant, the one who needed them. She was the one so easily disposed of, tossed to the dregs of the Republic and sold. Like a mere _thing_, like nothing, even! He was considering how to confront the woman, when the man stepped up to stand alongside her.

The woman's determination was steady and strong, all on its own. Echoed by the man's, though, and it became a real and heady force, until it was almost palpable. Like something you could reach out to grab onto, hold over someone's head, and clobber them. He had his own sign, this Mandalorian man, and it read just as strongly as hers did, shouted, "I'll break the first one of you that even breathes on her." That man pressed himself closer to her, standing aside her until their shoulders actually touched. Parson was able to hear the clink of the man's shoulder armor touching hers, knew he did it deliberately. Sending a message, one the woman easily discerned, he could tell from the small quirk of her lips as she felt him there. But the man wanted them to understand it, too.

The hunter stared at them, pausing as the soldiers filed in behind him. Then she looked at him, unsmiling, and acknowledged his rank simply, neatly, "Lieutenant." He frowned, looking past the defensive wall she and her man made themselves, to the others that milled in the doorway behind her. A strange assortment of characters, he thought. But all of them - the small woman with implants embedded in her face, the Devaronian, and the ... was that a Jawa? - all of them stood ready, there, in the doorway. And all of them were armed well, carried weapons they seemed well-practiced in wielding. Even the little rat in the Tattooine robes was hefting a rather large blaster pistol!

Who are these people, he wondered, bewildered.

He looked at the hunter, watched her standing there, unconcernedly, with her hands placed simply along the feminine curves of her hips. He frowned, watching as she prepared herself for whatever his soldiers intended. Her armor was roughly dark, a rich green. But it gleamed, like someone had burnished it, edging the chestplate and leg pieces with solid gold lines that spoke of intention, determination. He wondered over the meaning of that coloring. The man's armor was marked similarly, made by the same armormaster it seemed. So much, it looked almost purposefully the same. They looked like a solid unit standing there, a functioning entity that would be utterly painful to overcome.

Mandalorians.

The word seemed to quiver, there in the air between the hunter's crew in the hangar and the soldiers marching out to meet them. He could tell, could sense the ready anxiety that had his soldiers clutching against their rifles and subtly moving, shifting. Just to ensure, always, that someone else was standing in front of them. Out of the line of fire, that is. The hunter smiled softly, utterly aware of his men's trepidation, and he pressed his lips tight as he considered the stories they'd bandied over, to describe her, to describe this ... Kastiel.

She'd fought Sithspawn on Dromund Kaas.

Battled Jedi masters and won.

Confronted Imperial agents in the Citadel itself.

Slaughtered Hutt bosses in their own palaces.

Beaten real Sith down.

And won the notice of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.

For her "barbarous cruelty", no less.

But she was a Mandalorian. One of the mercenary wretches that lived outside the rule, the order that the Empire assured, even as they depended on it for their sheer livelihood. The ones who defined enemy based on whatever credits you tossed at their feet, in fact. He snorted silently, offended he even had to face such a craven woman. And she didn't help, not when she shrugged her shoulders, "You guys want something, of course. I imagine your master is intent on spelling it out. So let's get to it, lieutenant."

Parson huffed a single breath at her sheer audacity. He ignored the murmurs from the soldiers behind him as he leaned forward slightly. There was nothing admirable about this hunter, damn it. Certainly not her temerity. She was nothing more than a tool, to be bought. One he had no doubt Darth Tormen could afford. Oh, she'd learn soon enough, he thought, snidely. "I am to bring you to my lord, Darth Tormen. Submit to search and seizure and come with me."

He watched her eyes, saw them glint, like a flash that showed the power of the emotions driving at her right then. But she didn't rant, didn't scream or yell. Her control was extraordinary. She only crossed her arms over her chest, and spoke bluntly hard, "No."

Parson spluttered, "What did you say?"

"You speak Basic, right?" Kastiel shifted her weight, until her shoulder was pressed more firmly against the other Mandalorian's. Like she was assuring him, telling him something with the merest breadth of movement. Just that very simple tell, a single, heavy touch. "Wager I could could come up with a long list of reasons why that's not ever going to happen. I could tell you I don't trust one blasted person on this ship, not enough to take a step without a weapon in my hand. I could tell you I don't care a single shit who it is that requested I come here. I'm not here to impress him, he's nothing to me. I could tell you all of that, and more. But I'll only tell you, simply enough ... that I'm not the submissive type. Not. Ever."

That absurd Jawa creature let out a yelp that sounded suspiciously like a cheer. Parson scowled towards the thing, as it took to trembling, there behind the hunter. Not that he imagined it was fear that bothered the Jawa, not much at least. The Jawa was thrilled, more like. Eager to see the hunter act, as if he didn't doubt for a moment she'd succeed. The Devaronian didn't try to hide the grin stretching across his face, either. Damn their stupid hides! He glared at the hunter, bitter, "You'll do as directed. Either willingly. Or not." Parson smiled thinly as the soldiers behind him raised their rifles, threateningly.

Kas looked bored as she responded. Although she never looked away from Parson, either, not even when she addressed his men, "Anyone standing here when this idiot lieutenant hits the floor, joins him there."

Parson took a single step forward, raising his hand as if to strike her. Her brown eyes glittered dangerously at him as he moved, just above the twisted gleam of her implants. He wondered crazily what the implants were supposed to do, what benefit they provided her. Then the sound of stomping feet sounded from behind him. Parson twisted his head around, watching the backs of his soldiers as they ran away, frantic and scared - he watched in some amazement, gasping, "Wha ... cowards! You'll all be cour ...!"

That's when the hunter's Mandalorian companion sprang forward, just as Parson's attention was diverted. The man lashed out with a wicked twist of his strong-looking arm to embed a single long serrated blade into the soft flesh of Parson's shoulder. The force of the blow was terrible. Parson actually spun on the heels of his boots, like a broken child's top, right before he fell back onto the floor, hard enough his head thunked against the tiles and made his ears ring. He lay there, dazed, looking up at the man who'd struck him. He wondered blearily why the blonde wasn't even paying him attention - wasn't he worth paying attention to? - but the Mandalorian only lifted one hard boot to press down against his chest, holding him still as he shouted some Mandalorian words towards the hunter, rather. Watching her, obviously.

She'd moved, fast, so that Parson couldn't see her. But he could hear the sounds of blaster fire, felt the spreading wetness of his blood slowly oozing from the knife still stuck solidly into his shoulder. The burning pain of the wound, the heavy weight of the Mandalorian's boot into his chest - all of it made him want to weep and wail suddenly. How had he managed to fail so spectacularly? Not that he realized he'd spoken aloud, either. But the man looming over him answered, nonetheless.

"Assumed we were beaten, even before the fight began. Stupid."

That's when the woman's face appeared over him once again, looking down at him. Parson blinked, realized there was only the most awful quiet all around them now. He stared at her through the haze of pain that consumed him right then. Her neck was marked with a rich burgundy-colored tattoo, five seperate lines that smoothed along what he realized were thick scars against the soft skin of her throat. She glanced up at her companion, said something he didn't understand. The same language the man had been using, he thought. Damn them, he thought, knowing they spoke of him even as they ignored his ability to respond. The man only grumbled something in reply to her, just before he knelt down to grip Parson under the arms so he could yank him back to his feet.

Fiery pain ripped through him, sizzling along every one of his nerve endings before settling into the dullest ache throughout his torso as he wobbled there on his feet again. He glanced around, saw the other officers who'd accompanied him lying in still, sodden heaps against the tiles of the floor, and then he realized the hunter was talking to her people.

"No, Mako. The fucking Sith wants something from me, he's not going to destroy any of us. Not yet. But I need you to keep the Bad Boy secure until Tor and I are done with him." The small cyborg woman opened her mouth, like she was going to argue. But the Devaronian yanked solidly against her elbow, pointing towards the hunter's ship.

"Kas' right, and you know it. Come on ... back to work." The man's skin was a flaming red that seemed to match the pain in Parson's shoulder. He felt like he was trapped in one of the Hells Corellians described with terrifying stories as he stood there watching them argue. Especially when he looked down at the handle of the blade still protruding against his shoulder.

"I'm not a lazy bum, here, Gault!" Mako snorted at the Devaronian.

"Did I say that? I would never say that. Not me, noooo! I'd never!"

Kastiel raised one gloved hand, "Stop it! The lieutenant here's the one who'll be finishing the job he was assigned to. Without complaint, I might add. Just ... be ready, is all."

Mako mumbled sourly, even as Gault pulled her towards the hunter's ship, "Ready for what, now there's the question, huh?"

Parson watched them go, the tiny Jawa stumbling along behind them. The thing stopped only briefly to wave back towards the hunter, jabbering in its strange clicking language. He felt a spurt of anger at the thought the Jawa was wishing the hunter luck, and he actually _knew_ it! He turned his head, blinking against the stars that filled his vision as the blurred shape of the hunter's face moved back into his line of sight. There was a weird clicking sound, rhythmic, annoying enough that he looked for it, swinging his head back and forth in bemusement. Her man twisted his lips into a brief smile, "He'll drop down from loss of blood before he realizes you're tapping against your blasters, Kas."

She huffed a small sound, almost a laugh, just before she reached out to grab against the sleeve covering his uninjured arm, "Now, lieutenant. Let's move. Before you pass out on us, totally fuck up the game, here." He stumbled along behind her, biting back a whining cry as she moved rapidly through the ship's corridors. He gestured intermittently, showing the way. The soldiers they passed ducked their heads, or skirted behind the corners to avoid seeing them. He muttered under his breath, "Cowards ... damn them." He hissed in pain as they rode the elevator upwards, towards Darth Tormen's rooms.

He spent the brief minutes before facing the Sith Lord, and most likely dying, actually, contemplating what he'd do to the milquetoast soldiers he'd commanded. If given the chance, that is. The exercise managed at the least to distract him from the numbness he felt idling against the entire right side of his body by then, as he continued to ignore the blade stuck there. He even mumbled outloud several of his better ideas, but the hunter shook her head towards him. "Just sounds like a mess to clean up. Take care of your own bloody shoulder first, huh?"

Her mockery caused him to stiffen pridefully, until he stood there ramrod straight to wait for the doors to swing open. The man grunted, said something to the hunter in that strange language of theirs. But he ignored them completely, marching forward just as soon as the way cleared. He gulped as he took in the Sith Lord turning his hooded visage towards them, the tendrils hanging from his head quivering with what he knew was the most terrible anger. Parson didn't look down at the rough handle of the blade sticking out of his shoulder nor even the thick bloodstain that edged it and extended down towards his hip. He held his chin up as he marched forward, both Mandalorians flanking him. He stood at stiff attention, his injured arm hanging limply against his side as he stopped in front of the large desk set against the large expanse of viewing window, intoning, "My lord ... the hunter. As you ... requested." He blinked furiously, fighting desperately to remain conscious as his vision blurred wildly for a sudden, breathless moment.

Darth Tormen snarled, moving towards the small group until his large frame practically hung over Kastiel like he was a solid, terrible force of nature, there. She didn't move, only stood there resolutely, unfazed as she glared up at the burning red eyes set deep in the nearly purple-skinned face of the Sith Lord. Tormen was actually startled when she didn't flinch, just stared at him pugnaciously, utterly fearless. She even lifted her arms to cross them over her chest, her pert chin lifting higher as she looked up at him. He growled, "You've broken what belongs to me."

She shrugged unconcernedly, "You can fix him."

He loomed over them all, so terrifying that Parson actually gasped and took a single pained step backwards. But the hunter remained firm, unyielding. She only stood there, seemingly unafraid. It was her damn temerity that dared the Sith, and his mouth twisted angrily as he waved one of his large, red hands, growling, "Then perhaps you should learn what it is to have what belongs to you ... broken".

That man of hers suddenly gasped, reaching up towards his throat as he leaned forward. He wheezed, desperately trying to drag air into his chest. He slanted a hard look up at the Sith, quick and angry. But Kastiel only eased back slowly, until the hard line of her back was pressed firmly against his front and he was able to lean forward against her, his blonde head resting against her shoulder as he intermittently gasped choked sounds. She pointed at the Sith, "I know damn well what it is to have something taken from me. That's what taught me how to respond to my enemies. And I swear it. You actually break a single hair on his head and I'll ruin you. I'll make sure you never gain victory, over anyone, anything. Ever. Again." Parson gaped over at her, through the narrow tunnel his vision was fast becoming. Gaped, because he _believed_ her!

Darth Tormen grunted, satisfied, as he stepped back from the hunter in a fluid flourish of motion. The blonde Mandalorian drew in a single loud breath of air, panted several more times as he raised himself up again. Parson heard him murmuring against the hunter's ear, "We don't forget." Kastiel nodded, glancing back at him over her shoulder, "_Mando'ad draar digu_." Assured he wasn't seriously injured, she returned her dark brown-eyed gaze to the Sith. She barked out her words, "Say your piece, Sith. What do you want?"

Parson dropped his chin down until it rested wearily against his chest, breathing roughly as the hunter and the Sith argued back and forth. He counted the droplets of his blood that were slowly dripping down onto the floor, frozen in place. His thoughts were as blurry as his vision was, actually. He was rather dully aware of his surprise at understanding how completely, how totally it was he'd been used.

To gauge the strength of the hunter's resolve, firstly.

Then again, by the hunter herself.

Showing the Sith, in turn, she was no akk dog in an arena, that ripped and tore against flesh without rhyme or reason.

She acted, as she saw fit, according to her own will.

And fuck the Sith.

The declaration was loud, succinct. Utterly clear. The only one who'd been wholly and utterly gulled was Parson himself. So convinced of his own importance, he hadn't even comprehended the subtle nuances of the thing, the oblique motions of their negotiations. That everything she did, said - all of it had been purely calculated from the moment she stepped off the ramp of that ship she'd called "Bad Boy". He'd been nothing more than a probe of her capability, her character, until every layer of her response was picked out, looked over and judged by the Sith Lord he served.

So he stood there, sweating, counting the slow plodding drip of his blood onto the floor. He thought of the scar the Mandalorian blade would leave in his shoulder, thought how he'd look at it over the years, remembering this moment. Remembering what it was to be a Sith's pawn. And promising himself he'd never underestimate a Mandalorian bounty hunter again.

* * *

Mako was confused, "So we work for this Sith?"

Kastiel shrugged. "A partnership of convenience. He'll give us what we want, what we need. Give him his prize, as he calls it, and we win our names back."

"Depends on what he considers the prize, doesn't it?" Gault pointed out the obvious and Torian nodded at him, "It's going to be hard-won, yea." Gault blanched. Kastiel thought he looked rather funny like that, almost orange. Like a squash of some sort, one of those vegetables she enjoyed filling with spicy meat and broth. She certainly didn't say so, though. _I'm not _that_ stupid_, she thought. Gault looked like he'd vomit, anyway.

"If Torian says it'll be tough to win, it's got to be almost fucking impossible." Gault paused, staring at her. If possible, he seemed to turn even more orange when she hesitated to respond. "Kas? Who the fuck is the target?"

Kastiel leaned back against the ship's wall, basking in the steady thrum of the ship's engines sent through the vessel as it manuevered along the hyperlanes. A brief, negligible security against the cold empty space they sped their way through. She looked over at her people, her friends. Her husband. She looked at them and thought of how easily she could lose them. Fail at this, fail to get Tormen his fucking prize, and she could lose ... everything. _Not fucking happening_, she thought, scowling as she reared back to her feet again.

"Dorian Janarus. The Sith wants the Supreme Chancellor's fat head, to present to the Dark Council, he says. We're to retrieve it for him."

* * *

**Couple of phrases, some of which I didn't actually articulate, here. Only mentioned:**

**Torian shouted out to Kastiel when she was shooting down Parson's buddies, asking if she needed help. He said, "_Copaani gaan?"_ Literally, "Need a hand?"**

**On the elevator ride, Torian admires Kastiel's ability to enliven the Imperial's pride, to make him stand straight rather than in defeat. He figures it might be enough to save the guy, rather than if he walks into the confrontation looking weak and defeated. So Torian told Kastiel, "_Kandosii._" Literally, "Nice one!" or "Well done!"**

**Finally, towards the end of the confrontation, right after Torian remarks they won't forget, Kastiel says, "_Mando'ad draar digu_." Literally, "A Mandalorian never forgets." They're reminding each other, not to underestimate such a powerful Sith, actually. I know the game presents it as if Torian is feeling insulted. But my characters wouldn't feel that way, rather. Tormen was acting as they expected, according to their understanding of the Sith. And they reminded each other of it.**


End file.
